


What We Once Had

by Chamelaucium



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Because it's me, Frodo's getting married :'), Fíli and Kíli Are Little Shits, Happy Ending, M/M, Old Flames, Post Mpreg, Romangst, Thorin and Bilbo are both awkward failboats, Weddings, and emotionally constipated, separation and Divorce, to Sam uwu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 17:13:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1991097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chamelaucium/pseuds/Chamelaucium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin and Bilbo have been divorced for thirteen years, separated for fifteen and they can hardly have a civil conversation with each other without dissolving into an argument. But they manage.</p><p>Now their son Frodo is getting married, which would be fine if not for the fact that Thorin's sick father believes they've been happily married these last fifteen years, and now they have to get through these two weeks of celebrations without letting on that they're in fact divorced and living at opposite ends of the country.</p><p>But they'll get through it, eventually. Though how many tears and broken hearts and arguments there'll in the meantime, Mahal only knows. </p><p>And maybe, just maybe, they'll be closer at the end of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hellooo everyone ^_^ 
> 
> I don't really know where the idea for this came from, only that I've been wanting to write this for a while now. I guess it's slightly inspired by the film "The Big Wedding", which is so cheesy but a bit of fun so XD 
> 
> Chapters on this will probably be pretty short, purely so I can write them faster, but we'll see how it goes. I'm just in the mood for a fluffy cheesy Bagginshield rom-com :3
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

"Papa, can I ask you something?"

That never boded well, Bilbo knew, but he responded as lightly as he could. "Of course, Frodo."

"You know... You know I invited Dad to the wedding?"

Bilbo froze, his hand stopping dead above the pot he was stirring. He forced himself to move, though he was worried by the sheepishness of Frodo's voice. "Yes, I knew you had."

"And you know that I invited Uncle Frerin and Aunty Dís and the boys too?"

Bilbo could feel a headache setting in behind his eyes and he pushed it away. "Yes?"

"Well... I... They're bringing Grandpa Thráin," Frodo finished in a rush and Bilbo felt the pressure in his head just increase even more at that.

"Frodo, what are you getting at?" Bilbo asked his son, trying to soothe the irritation from his voice but when he turned around Frodo was studying his hands intently, avoiding his gaze. "I expected they'd bring Thráin. He is your grandfather."

"Yes, well..." Frodo hesitated and Bilbo felt dread settle in his stomach.

"Out with it, young man," Bilbo said sharply. Frodo looked around desperately, twisting his engagement ring round on his finger, as if wishing Sam were here with him.

"You know Grandpa Thráin's unwell," Frodo said, haltingly. Bilbo did know that his ex-father-in-law was ill, but he saw no reason why that was a problem. He forced Frodo to meet his eye and his son carried on in a rush. "He... He sometimes forgets things and the last few times I've seen him he kept asking after you and Dad, so he may or may not still think that you two are still happily married and have no idea that you've in fact been separated for the past fifteen years?" Frodo forced the words out in one breath, looking up at Bilbo sheepishly.

Bilbo's stomach had sunk at his son's words but he was careful not to let them show. He set the tea-towel he'd been holding down gently on the counter top, not looking at Frodo for a long while before meeting his eyes. "Oh," was all he said, nodding slightly. He narrowed his eyes at his son, who visibly squirmed. "He _may_ think so, or he _does_ think so?" he asked.

"Does," Frodo mumbled.

"I see," Bilbo said. "And... No one has thought to enlighten him?"

"Well... I tried to, Papa, but Fee rang to say Grandpa had been so sad that the next time I saw him I told him you'd made up." Frodo looked thoroughly miserable and while Bilbo wanted to be angry - oh, he was seething, but he was so exhausted he couldn't bring himself to shout - he also couldn't bear to. Instead he gave a heavy sigh.

"Does your father know?" he asked pointedly. Frodo shook his head and Bilbo pressed the heel of his palm to his eyes, trying to stave off the oncoming headache until bedtime.

"I'm sorry, Papa," Frodo said and he sounded so dejected that Bilbo couldn't be angry. Frodo had always just wanted to make people happy and it was no different for his grandfather; he'd done it out of kindness, after all. Bilbo shook his head.

"Don't worry about it, Frodo," he said, giving a small - strained - smile. "Your father and I are grown-ups, we can handle ourselves. But he'd best hear this from you." He looked at his son pointedly and Frodo got up from the table, throwing his arms around his father.

"Thank you, pops," he whispered as he hugged him fiercely. Bilbo clung back, trying to hold in his tears.

"It's your big day," he said to him, drawing away. "I'll do what I can to make it perfect, even if it means putting up with your stubborn, egotistical, block-headed -"

"Papa," Frodo said warningly.

"- poltroon of a father," Bilbo finished, ignoring Frodo's eye roll. "It's not every day your boy gets married, after all." He stroked Frodo's curls back from his forehead; Bilbo had to look up at him. Frodo gave a smile and kissed his father on the cheek.

"I'll go and call dad, then," he said, disentangling himself from Bilbo's embrace.

Surreptitiously wiping his eyes, Bilbo nodded. "You do that. But I don't want to speak to him, not until after dinner. Tell him to call at about nine - he'll probably forget but that's just like him -"

" _Papa_ ," Frodo said, bending down to kiss him again and interrupting Bilbo's tirade. "I'll tell him to call."

Bilbo nodded absent-mindedly and waved his son from the kitchen, returning to his pots and pans. He noticed his knuckles were white, he'd fisted his hands so tightly in his shirt.

Silently (a lifetime of habit was hard to break) he cursed. He and Thorin had broken up fifteen years ago and been officially divorced for thirteen. Thorin had gone back to his high-flying business career while Bilbo had kept up his small job at the book shop and looked after Frodo on his own. They'd had contact, of course they had - Thorin would visit regularly and was a good dad to their boy when he did, and in all of Frodo’s twenty-two years he’d never missed a birthday. Frodo loved both his fathers, and Bilbo was glad of it.

But now... Now he was going to have to pretend to his son's ailing grandfather that he'd been happily married for the past fifteen years, not a single parent. He was going to have to pretend to be in love with the man whose presence he couldn't stand – they’d always ended up fighting or getting under one another's skin, and eventually after one argument too many (though to be fair, Bilbo had been right to be angry after the _stupid man had_ \- Bilbo wouldn’t think of it, or he’d just get annoyed again and he was too tired to be annoyed) they'd decided to end it for Frodo's sake. He'd only been eight, but Bilbo wasn't sure what would have been more harmful - their divorce or the incessant arguments. Seeing as Frodo was a well turned out, sensible young man, he supposed they'd managed the divorce well.

Bilbo dreaded speaking to Thorin that evening. He'd no doubt assume it was Bilbo's fault and Bilbo would deny it vehemently, inevitably leading to a shouted argument down the phone and no small amount of grief from Frodo later about _why couldn't they just be **civil** to one another._

Bilbo sighed and returned to the food; after dinner he'd have to get a room ready for his mother, who was arriving tomorrow before the wedding in a week. It was better to not think on these things, Bilbo told himself. He'd keep calm and eventually Thorin's obstinacy would blow over and things would be alright. He could manage for a week or two – he’d managed eight years of it before.

Bilbo never stopped to think about these things too deeply, about why he and Thorin couldn't stay civil or make it through one conversation without shouting; that was because he was afraid of what he'd discover.

He was afraid he'd realise that in his heart of hearts, he was still in love with Thorin Durin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad everyone enjoyed the first chapter!! Here's more, and I hope it continues to please :3

Thorin Durin was exhausted when he got the phone call from his son. Work was driving him mad and he'd hardly had time to think about anything else, between fretting over what he could possibly get his son for his wedding and helping Bilbo plan the ceremony and reception (he swore, if he had to look at one more patterned table cloth selection he'd lose it completely).

This was just the final nail in his figurative coffin, so to speak.

He'd have to say no. He couldn't spend more than five minutes in Bilbo's company without everything going downhill (admittedly it was usually his fault, as his sister was keen to point out on multiple occasions) and the thought of spending two whole weeks in that house - _their_ old house - pretending to be something he wasn't - Thorin couldn't do that.

So he'd duly rung Bilbo back, as Frodo had requested (Thorin loved that boy to pieces, no matter the state of things between him and Bilbo) although it had been closer to half nine than nine o'clock as Bilbo had requested. What did it matter, Thorin reflected morosely; what was one more disappointment in the great sea of them he'd already been to Bilbo.

Bilbo was always perfectly polite when they spoke, while Thorin tended towards curtness - at least until one of them put their foot in it and they both ended tearing each other apart with harsh words until someone hung up. Thorin never meant to, but he was just never very good with words.

Thorin had tried to impress upon Bilbo the folly of this plan - much as he loved Frodo, this was definitely up there on the _please don't ask me to do this_ part of the scale - but Bilbo had hissed at him vehemently that if he loved his son he'd do it and of course Thorin had had no other choice but to agree. He'd also had to consider that it was his own father, and when Bilbo had finally hung up Thorin had sighed in dejection. Bilbo had always been good at getting him to do what he wanted.

Thorin would be arriving at Bag End - the house he and Bilbo had lovingly made their own before it all fell to pieces - in two days' time, the day before Dís, her boys, Frerin and their father were due to arrive. He supposed now he'd have to take some of his things to dot around the house, as if his presence there was permanent. But a quick glance around his flat showed that pretty much everything was generic - it had all been supplied, right down to the rug in front of the television.

The only personal things were the pictures Frodo had drawn when he was younger and the one framed photograph he owned. It was of Bilbo and Frodo at Christmas - their last Christmas all together. Frodo was giggling as Bilbo tickled his tummy, outside of the camera's capture, and Bilbo's expression was one of pure joy. Thorin remembered smiling even as he took the photo, the sight of his two most precious things before him enough to have him grinning like a loon.

But then things had gone sour - again, admittedly it was his fault, though he still maintained that Bilbo had overreacted a little - and he'd spent the next Christmas with Dís and Fíli and Kíli, missing his boys desperately. He'd been allowed to see them on Boxing Day, but it hadn't been the same. He and Bilbo hadn't talked and Frodo had cried and even Thorin's present hadn't got him to stop; eventually he and Bilbo had had to put aside the bitterness between them and watch a film all together on the sofa, Frodo still occasionally sniffling.

Perhaps what he and Bilbo had to do now wasn't so different from that, after all.

Gently he touched the glass over Frodo's curls, Bilbo's cheek pink with pleasure, and remembered what it was like when that had been his and only his. Then he pushed himself away and went to ring Dís. He didn't expect a shoulder to manly sniffle on - Dís had rather been inclined to agree with Bilbo where their separation was concerned - but she might be able to help. She got along with Bilbo. Maybe she could tell him what to do.

But to his unending sheer bad luck it was Fíli who answered the phone, joined swiftly by his brother.

"Hello Uncle," they said chirpily. "Aren't you packing for Uncle Bilbo's?"

"I will be, but I need to speak to your mother first," he said, gritting his teeth.

"She's just putting Grandpa to bed," Kíli said. "He's so looking forward to seeing you and Uncle Bilbo together again."

"You will leave in plenty of time, won't you?" Fíli put in. "You remember that time for Frodo's eighteenth when you turned off the wrong turning and got lost -"

"- and missed the entire party?" Kíli finished. "Frodo will never forgive you if you miss his wedding."

"I won't miss his wedding," Thorin said, doing his level best to keep his temper. "Is your mum free yet?"

"She's still talking to Grandpa. He's laughing about the day you first came home to tell him about Bilbo. I don't think she's going to be free for a long while yet, judging by the laughing."

"Uncle, were you really that embarrassing?" Kíli's voice sounded from further away. "Oh Fíli, this is _golden -"_

"Will you tell Dís I called?" he asked before hastily hanging up. He dreaded to think what his father and sister were laughing about. He'd been young and smitten and very impressionable back then, that was all.

With a sigh he set the phone down and went and got ready for bed, feeling too sorry for himself to even get a drink. He curled up under the covers and didn't wake up until the next morning, and his day was hectic as he tried to finish all the things he wouldn't have time to do at work thanks to his weeks off and pack when he got home.

He got a phone call that evening and answered it before even checking who it was, something he regretted when he was greeted by Bilbo's crisp politeness.

"Thorin."

"Bilbo," he greeted, doing his best to curb his tongue. After all, they'd be seeing each other the next day and it was going to be awkward enough without another argument.

"I wanted to remind you that you're supposed to be arriving tomorrow," Bilbo said with cool detachment. "Frodo wants you to get here early - he wants to have a special dinner."

Thorin's insides shrivelled at the thought of this special dinner. It would inevitably be made up of awkward silences and uncertainty and Bilbo's disappointment. He'd disappointed Bilbo so many times it was a wonder the other man's expectations weren't so low it was impossible to disappoint them anymore.

"I'll be there," he said.

"No later than five, Thorin. And remember - it's the first turning off the motorway, not the second." Thorin had forgotten that and he breathed a sigh of relief. He could hear the almost-smile in Bilbo's voice as he signed off and with a sigh Thorin set about finishing his packing and printing off a map.

:::

It was a long drive - seven hours - from his flat in the city to Hobbiton, the sleepy town where he and Bilbo had planned on bringing up many children (they’d had so many plans, back then). They'd moved in right after the wedding, while Bilbo was pregnant with Frodo (and, yes, it had been a bit of a rushed affair, but only because they'd wanted it to be and Bilbo had wanted their child to be a Durin - though in the end they kept the Baggins name).

Frodo was waiting for him at the end of the garden, jumping up as he pulled into the drive.

"Dad," he cried, hurrying over to him as Thorin got out of the car. The lad was nearly as tall as him and had been for years now, but it always made him sad. He pulled Frodo into a hug so tight Frodo had to pull away so he could breathe, laughing at him. "You made it," he said, smiling with that smile so like Bilbo's it always made his heart stutter. Bilbo's smile had been his downfall, but he'd seen less and less of it with every year of their marriage.

"Of course I made it," he said, running his hands through Frodo's curls, coal black like his hair but curly like Bilbo's. "I wouldn't miss it for the world, my boy."

Frodo's face fell a little and he looked guilty. "Dad, I'm - I'm sorry for all of this. I know you don't-”

"Frodo," Thorin interrupted him. "I told you. I wouldn't miss it for the _world_. Not even your Papa could stop me." He pressed his forehead to his son's in an affectionate gesture.

"Thanks, Dad," Frodo hugged him again before tugging on his arm. "Papa's made your favourite for tea," he said eagerly.

"Is Sam here too?" Thorin asked.

Frodo got a dreamy look on his face as he thought of his soon-to-be husband, and Thorin wondered if he'd ever looked like that when thinking of Bilbo. Probably, if the amount his siblings had teased him was any indication.

"No. He said he didn't want to intrude, and then his family are arriving too so he couldn't anyway."

"Right," Thorin said. He got the usual nerves as he entered the house behind Frodo, the memories hitting him like a tidal wave. He heard clanging in the kitchen and the smell wafting through the low-ceilinged house (it was really a little impractical but Bilbo had loved it) was divine. His stomach rumbled appreciatively and Frodo grinned at his father.

Thorin made his way to the kitchen. "Evening," he greeted and Bilbo looked up from the stove.

"Oh, you're on time," he said, a rare smile curving his lips as he regarded Thorin. "That's nice."

"You did warn me not to be late," he said, smiling back. Bilbo just waved him towards the small kitchen table while he set the kettle going.

An old woman with the same round, kindly features as Bilbo sat there with a cup of tea already and she regarded Thorin intently. "Good evening, Missus Bella," Thorin greeted her, leaning in to kiss her cheek. Before he pulled away she caught his face between her hands and she looked at him closely.

"You've aged a lot since the last time I saw you," she said, sighing. Thorin raised an eyebrow back at her and she laughed and shooed him away to his seat opposite her. Belladonna Baggins had always been fond of him, even after he and Bilbo had split, and while she could be quite a frightening woman she'd continued to be perfectly pleasant to Thorin and indeed enjoyed his company more than her son did.

Thorin felt Bilbo's disapproval as he took his seat, still chuckling, and knew he'd probably be on the receiving end of a lecture on it later this evening. But he ignored it, instead chatting with Belladonna until it was time to lay the table for dinner, and he helped Frodo do so, feeling strangely at peace with these domestic chores he never had to do any more now it was just himself.

Whether it would last or not, however, was a completely different matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is just a little bundle of angst underneath his cold exterior... all his stuff turns kind of angsty. I'm so sorry(notsorry). :')


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this wasn't posted yesterday but I admit, I was a little preoccupied... I ONLY MET MR. FRICKING ARMITAGE HIMSELF. My friends and I were right by the front of the queue (three people in front of us!) and one minute he's coming out of the stage door, the next he's _right there_ in front of us and I just can't even any more!! He was so sweet though and he signed my copy of The Hobbit and I just am so dead, this stupid man is ruining my life but I love him so much jadbha\h\\.
> 
> Ahem. Yes. Anyway. Here's the next chapter! I do hope you like it!! :3

Whenever Thorin stayed for dinner, that was when Bilbo had the most trouble remembering that he wasn't his husband any more – even after fifteen years of it being just him and Frodo eating at the table together. But whenever this happened - Thorin chuckling with Bilbo's mother, helping their son set the table - then it was so easy to forget.

He busied himself with getting the food from the oven and setting the dishes on the table, smiling inwardly to himself at Thorin's small exclamation as he did so; Thorin had always adored Bilbo's cooking and in the early days Bilbo had often teased him that it was the only reason he'd married him. Thorin had always denied it and been quick enough to show him _other_ reasons too -

But Bilbo wouldn't think about that. He refused to. He avoided meeting Thorin's gaze for a minute, too, knowing that the other man would know what he was thinking of immediately. Instead he sat at the table and gestured that everyone should start helping themselves.

While the others dug in eagerly to the roast beef he'd cooked - it was Thorin's favourite, and he supposed there was a small part of him that still wanted to make him happy - and just briefly their eyes met and Thorin offered a tentative smile of thanks, which Bilbo returned equally hesitantly. Thorin's smile - the one he'd aim at their son, at least – was still heart-stopping and Bilbo was glad the full force of it was never turned on him anymore. He’d never been able to resist his smile.

Dinner wasn't so bad, if he was honest. Frodo was the buffer between them and they both minded their tongues and it passed relatively peacefully. When it was over Bilbo sent the others off to the living room while he cleaned up, wanting just a little time on his own to compose himself, but as he loaded the dishwasher a figure appeared back in the doorway, making him jump.

"Can I help?" Thorin asked.

Bilbo straightened. "It's alright. I can manage."

Thorin came closer anyway and looked at him with those damn eyes, so big and blue. "Let me help," he said softly. Bilbo tried to snatch the bowl Thorin had picked up from him irritably.

"I'm _fine_ ," he said. "I've managed these last fifteen years and I can manage tonight. I don't need your help, Thorin Durin." Thorin still hadn't let go of the bowl so Bilbo glared at him and went to pick up another one; Thorin stayed deathly still and Bilbo sighed. "I'm sorry, Thorin, but I just -"

"You're tired," he said and Bilbo was grateful he hadn't responded hurtfully, as _he_ might have done. Thorin set the dish on the rack and looked like he was about to say something, before Bilbo made a noise and adjusted the position of the dish slightly.

"What?" he asked, a little defensively. "It washes better this way."

Thorin shrugged. "Bilbo, I know you don’t want me here and I know we’ve had our grievances but I’m trying, alright – I’m trying to do right by our son and even if you don’t like it, we’ve got to do this. You said so yourself.”

“I know what I said, Thorin,” Bilbo sighed. “It’s just not easy, alright? I’m worried about Frodo, about this wedding, and now I’ve got to deal with you as well and -”

“Then let me help,” Thorin said and Bilbo was too tired to fight. If Thorin wanted to clear up after dinner then he was welcome to it. He made an exasperated gesture with his hands before giving up and moving away, heading towards the door. He still had to sort out Thorin’s room, after all –

“Bilbo?” Thorin asked from behind him. Slowly he turned.

“Yes, Thorin?” he asked hesitantly. The air was thick between them with all the hurts from over the years, the disappointments, the awkwardness; he made himself ignore it.

“I just wanted to thank you,” he said quietly and Bilbo’s stomach dropped from out of him. “Thank you for letting me come.”

“I doubt I could have stopped you,” Bilbo said. “After all, Frodo’s as much your son as mine and I think he inherited your stubbornness as well as your eyes.”

“ _My_ stubbornness?” Thorin asked, his face quirking into a small smile and Bilbo’s eyes were immediately drawn to it, unable to help himself. “Are you forgetting the time you refused to leave Frodo’s parents evening until you’d spoken to the head teacher about how they weren’t reading enough in class?”

“But they weren’t,” Bilbo protested, remembering it well. He’d insisted on speaking to the head and Thorin had been mightily embarrassed by it all…

“Or then there was that time you made Frodo get his hair cut for the first time, though he had the most adorable baby curls-”

“He looked like a girl!” Bilbo said, resisting the urge to laugh, alone with Thorin in the quiet kitchen. How could it still hurt, even after all these years?

“Or even the time, twenty-two years ago, when you ignored everyone’s advice and wouldn’t take no for an answer, and married me anyway.” Thorin’s voice was soft and Bilbo looked away, unable to meet Thorin’s blue gaze. He exhaled slowly.

“Perhaps I should have listened to them,” he said simply and turned to go.

“Perhaps you should,” Thorin’s voice sounded from behind him but he didn’t look back, instead vented out his frustration and confusion and hurt on the bedsheets in the room Thorin usually used on the occasions when he stayed over – usually for Frodo’s (and Bilbo’s) birthdays. Why did Thorin _still_ have the power to throw all of his meticulously gathered composure out the window and scatter it to all four winds?

:::

Bilbo was up early the next morning, though not as early as Frodo, who’d left a note on the breakfast table letting him know he’d gone to see Sam. Bilbo smiled as he put the kettle on; being apart for any length of time was unbearable for the two and it made Bilbo pleased to know that there’d been no case – so far, at least – of cold feet.

He was brewing a pot of tea when Thorin appeared in the doorway, thankfully fully clothed (Bilbo was _not_ going to think about how he used to walk around with no shirt on; it wouldn’t do him any favours now) and he blinked blearily at Bilbo for a moment.

“Good morning,” Bilbo offered, handing him a cup of tea, so strong it almost looked like coffee. Thorin had always liked his builder’s brew.

“Morning,” he returned, gratefully accepting it and sitting at the table.

“You’re up early,” Bilbo commented as he put some toast on. Thorin had always been a late sleeper, never usually rising before ten at the earliest on his days off – a constant source of teasing for Frodo on Christmas day – so it was unusual for him to be up now, at only nearly eight.

“I thought you might want some help.”

Bilbo made sure to contain his surprise, taking a sip of tea to hide it. “I think I’ll be fine,” he said eventually. “But you might keep my mother company while I finish sorting out rooms.” Thorin nodded and they lapsed back into an awkward silence; without Frodo there, there was no buffer and Bilbo felt very exposed, alone with Thorin.

“What time are they arriving?” Thorin asked, almost making Bilbo jump.

“Your sister said to expect them around lunchtime, but if the boys are still themselves that means they might just make it in time for afternoon tea,” he replied. Much as Bilbo loved those boys, their good-natured and exuberant attitudes were hardly the most reliable and Bilbo was just glad Frodo had inherited at least some of his own good time-keeping skills. Lady forbid he take after Thorin in that regard.

Bilbo finished his toast and stood, and was mildly surprised when Thorin followed suit.

“Are you sure I can’t help at all?”

“I’m sure,” Bilbo said, vaguely confused as to why Thorin was trying to be so helpful. He started making his way to the room where Thorin had slept and which now needed changing again for the…guests. Oh. “Thorin?” he called.

“Yes?”

“If they’re arriving today, that means…” Bilbo trailed off. “Well, it’ll have to at least look like you’re living here and that we…we’re…” he swallowed, feeling a little ill. “You’ll have to share my room, I suppose,” he finished, his voice suddenly going.

Neither looked at the other for a long moment, the awkwardness of the moment too much for Bilbo to bear and he put his head in his hands, once again feeling the pressure of a headache coming on.

“I can sleep on the sofa after everyone else has gone to sleep?” Thorin suggested.

“Maybe tonight,” Bilbo agreed, “that would be for the best.”

After a moment of continued awkward silence Bilbo ducked his head and moved past Thorin, muttering something about getting on with his jobs and Thorin retreated almost gratefully. Once again Bilbo was left to take out his frustration on inanimate objects, a mix of emotions churning in his gut. Honestly, Thorin didn’t have to let on how relieved he was at not having to share his room – Bilbo had never had Thorin’s muscly physique but he’d liked Bilbo’s softness, once upon a time. Not that Bilbo was thinking about that.

Instead he settled for punching a pillow as he put a new cover on it, imagining it was Thorin’s face and muttering a disgruntled “arse”.

:::

Dís, Fíli, Kíli, Frerin and Thráin arrived in between lunch and tea. Frodo had come back in time for lunch and was waiting eagerly for his cousins to arrive. Finally they did, and while Frodo went out ahead to greet them and help his grandfather from the car with his uncle, Bilbo and Thorin went to the door hesitantly and unwillingly, because with the arrival of Thráin came the start of this ridiculous act. Honestly, after the ceremony and the party and the honeymoon, Bilbo was going to have a bone to pick with his son because this was _not_ how he’d envisaged spending his time in the run-up to the wedding.

But he kept his face a pleasant mask as Thorin wrapped an arm around his shoulders (at least it wasn’t his waist) as they moved forward to greet the guests. Thráin was wobbly and using a walking stick, but the pure joy on his face at seeing his son and son-in-law together was enough to placate Bilbo somewhat. The weight of Thorin's arm around him made him grit his teeth, bringing back unwanted memories of when it was a welcome thing, a common thing; he didn't want to remember these things anymore.  He couldn't.

"You're looking well," he said to Thráin as he hugged the elderly man, escaping Thorin's embrace for a minute. He was alarmed by how thin he was when he wrapped his arms around him.

"I feel it," he replied, smiling at Bilbo fondly. "Much better for seeing you two. You're looking happy."

Bilbo swallowed around the lump in his throat. "We are," he said thickly, nodding. Thráin moved on to greet Belladonna and Bilbo let out a sigh of relief, ignoring Thorin's eyes on him. He'd nearly had enough of the man and his blue eyes that never failed to look like a kicked puppy, and they still had a _long_ way to go this evening. Much to his chagrin. Instead he greeted the rest of the newcomers, not looking back at Thorin.

“Trouble in paradise?” Dís grinned to him as he hugged her and let his irritation show.

“Don’t even go there,” he warned her and she just laughed. Frerin was much the same, laughing at Bilbo’s plight; Fíli and Kíli both swept him up into a hug almost enthusiastic enough to sweep him off his feet.

He was allowed a break from Thorin now as he ushered everyone inside, offering food and drinks and other refreshments; they’d just got everyone sitting down in the living room when there was another knock at the door and Bilbo smacked a hand to his forehead.

“That’s the people come to put up the pavilion,” he said, groaning to himself.

“We’ll sort it, Uncle Bilbo,” Fíli offered, Kíli nodding beside them. Bilbo hesitated but then Thorin put a hand on his arm, almost making him jump.

“I’ll supervise,” he said and Bilbo nodded gratefully. Throin glanced quickly at Thráin before leaning in to press a quick kiss to Bilbo’s forehead and hurrying out of the door, the boys following him like ducklings. Tall ducklings, but still. Bilbo glared after Thorin’s retreating figure and turned to Frodo, who looked immensely guilty.

“Does anyone want cake?” he heard his mother ask loudly.

:::

Dinner that evening was a noisy affair. Not only did they have boisterous Fíli and Kíli (and Frerin might as well count as one of them, he could be so immature at times), Dís and Thráin to fit round the table, but Sam had come too. He was a shy lad and Frodo he insisted he come for dinner that night, with people he knew, rather than the next day when there would be even more people present. With his ruddy complexion and honey curls, he was the complete antithesis of Frodo, but the tenderness in his eyes when he regarded Frodo warmed Bilbo to his very core.

After dinner he sat watching them fondly and had forgotten Thorin’s presence by his side until the man spoke suddenly, quietly in his ear.

“Do you remember when we first met him?”

“Of course,” Bilbo smiled back. Three years ago Frodo had told them about Sam and a few weeks later had brought him home, nervous as anything but perfectly polite. Bilbo had made sure Thorin was there, bullying him into taking a day off so that he could meet his son’s boyfriend, and had spent the rest of the evening bullying him into not scaring the poor lad off.

“I’m still not sure they should be getting married so soon,” Thorin said. “They’re both so young.”

Bilbo looked at him sharply. “That hardly stopped us, did it?”

Thorin gave a small snort. “Yes, and look how well our marriage went.”

Bilbo had to give him that. “I think they’ll be alright,” he said. “At least Frodo’s not pregnant.” He looked at Thorin pointedly. Thorin made a noise, half hum and half snort.

“You can’t just blame me for that. If I remember correctly, you weren’t complaining at the time.”

Bilbo felt himself flush at Thorin’s words. “Perhaps not at the time,” he agreed. He regarded Frodo again, cheeks flushed pink with happiness. “But at least we did _something_ right, in our failure of a marriage.”

Beside him Thorin followed his gaze and Bilbo saw his face soften as his eyes fell on their son. Maybe they weren’t the best matched pair, maybe they’d rushed things, maybe maybe maybe – the one thing that couldn’t be disputed was that in all their time together, Frodo was the one thing that was never a mistake.


	4. Chapter 4

Thorin was woken by someone shaking him and pulling his covers off, despite his protests.

"Thorin, get up," the voice said. "Wake up. Your father's awake and will be up any minute now." That got his attention and he sat up, blinking blearily. It was Bilbo standing over him, his hair still tousled with sleep even though he was dressed, and he was looking at him expectantly.

"What time is it?" Thorin asked, his voice hoarse, and he yawned.

"Half eight," Bilbo replied, yanking his blanket off him and beginning to fold it up. Thorin flopped back down with a groan.

"You're cruel," he said, covering his eyes with his arm.

"Yep," he heard Bilbo say in agreement before pulling the cushion out from under his head all of a sudden, making him wince as his head dropped down onto the sofa. "Now come on, before he starts asking awkward questions."

Grumbling, Thorin got up and followed Bilbo to the kitchen, though Bilbo did stash the blanket behind the sofa and rearranged the cushions to look as if they hadn't been slept on overnight. Bilbo had made a pot of tea and Dís was up already; she grinned at Thorin as Bilbo poured out the tea for them.

"I hope you slept well," she said. "You two looked absolutely thrilled to be sleeping together again." Her mirth was evident in her voice and Bilbo gave a snort.

"It's going to get very old very quickly," he said and Thorin had to agree. He and Bilbo had had to 'go to bed' together as Thráin bade them goodnight. It had been awkward to say the least, as they'd listened carefully until he'd gone to his room, then waited for a painful half an hour before creeping to the living room to sort out the sofa for Thorin. It had been made all the worse by the fact that everyone else _knew_ they were only doing this for Thráin, and yet had still found ways to make suggestive comments.

"Morning all," they heard from behind and found Thráin entering the kitchen, dressed for the day and with his usual smile on his face. Thorin inched slightly closer to Bilbo, closing the gap minutely as Bilbo offered Thráin tea and Dís sat him down at the table. As they all sat and stood there, Thorin was relieved when Bilbo took pity on him and allowed him to put an arm around his shoulders (though Thorin ached to wrap his arms around Bilbo's waist and rest his chin on his curls, as had once been their default position).

Belladonna, Frodo and the boys were soon up too and only Frerin was still sleeping - Dís said it was his own fault if he missed breakfast - and they ate toast and bacon and eggs to start the day, the smell of it eventually luring Frerin from his slumber. It was lively and Thorin didn't have time to mope over what was no longer his.

Not long after breakfast the doorbell was going and more guests were arriving - notably Dwalin and Balin, cousins of Thorin's who were as good as uncles to Frodo, and Frodo's other cousins Merry and Pippin; Thorin dreaded what would happen when they realised Fíli and Kíli weren't the responsible adults they seemed to be at first. Bilbo's friend Bofur arrived too, and Thorin had a hard time of it seeing Bilbo smile at him where he still wouldn't smile at Thorin. It was a hectic day in between helping Bilbo sort them out, keeping Thráin from getting suspicious and dodging awkward questions from the rest.

He confided in Dwalin, though. His cousin had seemed shocked to see Thorin and Bilbo seemingly getting along, even more so when Bilbo had let Thorin take his hand for a moment, and Thorin didn't trust him not to accidentally blurt something out. So he took him outside to the garden and told him everything, Dwalin making sympathetic noises.

"I know you never moved on after yer split," he said, looking out at the pavilion in the field that backed onto Bag End's back garden.

"I had a young son," Thorin said defensively. "I wasn't ready even if I had been able to."

"But Thorin, Frodo's been old enough these past seven years. You can't use him as an excuse for everything, you know."

"It's not an excuse," Thorin said, refusing to look at Dwalin even when he snorted.

"We all know why you never moved on," the other man , even taller and more muscular than Thorin, said, waving Thorin's words away. "It's because you still love Bilbo."

Thorin couldn't deny it, so instead he said nothing and only gave a sigh.

That evening things got even more hectic as people prepared for the event that night - Frodo's stag do. Thorin was dreading it, along with many other things. It would only be down at the local pub but for Thorin it was just another marker that showed him things were changing. Soon Frodo wouldn't just be his baby boy anymore - he'd be a married man and moving out - and if Frodo didn't live with Bilbo any more, he'd have no reason to visit Bilbo.

But at nightfall, out they all went to the Green Dragon (excluding Thráin, Dís and Belladonna), and Thorin sat nursing his pint of beer while Frodo, his cousins, Frerin and some of the younger guests set about getting absolutely sloshed. Bilbo sat at the other side of their table (next to Bofur, to Thorin's irritation) watching Frodo and toying with his glass almost absent-mindedly.

Bilbo had never been a big drinker but he readily accepted the pints that Bofur kept putting in front of him, downing them quickly until his cheeks were flushed and his eyes a little unfocused. Thorin wasn't much better off and Bofur had stumbled off to join the drinking party Frodo was now participating in.

"He's so happy," Bilbo sighed as Frodo's laughter reached them. "Do you think he'll stay happy?"

"I've no idea," Thorin admitted, admiring the way Bilbo's curls were falling charmingly over his face. Thorin had started to go grey a long while ago, but Bilbo's curls were just as golden as ever.

"I hope he stays happy," Bilbo said, giving another morose sigh. "Not like us."

"We were happy, mostly," Thorin reminded him. "We had some good times."

"We did," Bilbo conceded, a small lopsided grin appearing on his face and Thorin couldn't keep himself from mirroring it. "Do you remember that holiday in the mountains when Frodo was five?"

"How could I forget?" Thorin chuckled. They'd spent a tense couple of hours searching for Frodo and thinking he'd fallen off the edge of the steep path and had then found him curled up with the pack of food under a tree. "You put him back on baby reins and didn't let him off them until we got back." Bilbo let out a small laugh and another sigh. "Do you remember when we first let Fíli meet Frodo?"

Bilbo's smile grew wider. "I'll never forget it. A grumpy three-year-old suddenly throwing away his dummy and demanding to hold the new baby? I'll remember that forever. Like Frodo's first day of school, do you remember that?"

"Always," Thorin smiled. But they'd had good times before Frodo, too. Maybe their marriage had been a summer bloom, too frail survive the inevitable and cold autumn the trouble had brought, but in their spring they'd blossomed, and blossomed well. "Do you remember how we met?" he asked softly, unable to help himself.

Bilbo gave a small smile and actually looked Thorin in the eye as he did so, making Thorin's heart stutter just a bit. "I don't think I could forget even if I wanted to," he said. "A clearly hungover man stumbling into my library looking for books, who just happened to be the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen," Bilbo sighed and Thorin couldn't tear his eyes away from his ex-husband, the man who still held his heart after all this time. He remembered seeing Bilbo for the first time, his heart stopping and being rendered completely tongue-tied, drunk on Bilbo and not the remnants of last night's drinking.

"And our wedding day," Thorin smiled. "That was pretty special." He needed to stop hurting himself like this, but Thorin couldn't help himself.

"It was," Bilbo agreed, his smile crooked. But then it slipped just a fraction and a cloud passed over his face. "How did it all go so wrong?" he asked quietly. "If we were so good, why did it all fall apart?"

Thorin said nothing. It was them who'd fallen apart, drifted away until it was like coming home to a stranger, neither knowing what to say to the other when they hardly spent time together anymore. And then he'd taken that job and that had spelled the beginning of their end...

He didn't say any of this, and instead said simply, "I don't know," feeling his own face crumple. He wanted nothing more than a second chance, but after everything and their arguments, Bilbo had never given him one.

Bilbo nodded sadly and drained his glass. "Neither do I," he said and stood, wobbling slightly, before going over to join Bofur at another table. Thorin watched him go, trying to suppress the hot claws of jealousy closing around his throat as he watched them; Bilbo wasn't his anymore, and hadn't been for a long time now. He had no right to be jealous.

:::

Everyone was up late the next day, Thorin included. However, those who hadn't drunk the night before of course were up at their usual time, which meant that when Thorin did finally wake up and had gone to the kitchen to get food, he was greeted by an awkward question and a flustered Bilbo.

"Good morning, Thorin," Thráin greeted him and Thorin returned it, sitting down opposite his father at the table where he sat with a coffee and his newspaper. "Why were you on the sofa this morning? Did you two argue?" Thráin sounded so distressed by the mere thought of it and Thorin froze with his toast halfway to his mouth, looking at Bilbo. Bilbo met his gaze, also gone still, before answering and carrying on nonchalantly.

"Of course we haven't," he said lightly. "It's just Thorin's a terrible snorer once he gets a few drinks in him." Thorin coloured slightly but it reassured Thráin, whose smile returned and he looked much happier. Thorin had never seen his father so cheerful or with so much energy, at least not since their mother had died. It was almost like Frodo's wedding had given him a new lease of life, though he was still frail enough to forget about his and Bilbo's break-up.

He busied himself eating, ignoring Dís' smirks and giving a small chuckle when Belladonna laid an age-spotted hand on his and said, with a wicked glint in her eye, "Bungo was just the same, you know, though he didn't even need the drinks to sound like a small avalanche."

Thorin gave a snort and Bilbo shot him a dirty look, which thankfully went unnoticed by the others, and finished eating before hurrying out to get dressed. As he made his way to the bathroom he bumped into Frodo, stumbling out of his bedroom with a hand to his head and blinking at the light. Thorin couldn't help the chuckle as Frodo looked at him woefully.

"Someone drank too much last night?"

"It was all Pip's idea," Frodo muttered and gestured back into his room. "He and Merry still haven't woken up."

Thorin clapped a hand to Frodo's shoulder, making the lad wince. "Your Papa's got some breakfast going," he told him. "I'm sure he'll be sympathetic to your hungover pleas."

" _Thanks_ , dad," Frodo muttered, though he grinned through his glare. As he shuffled off to the kitchen Thorin continued on to the bathroom and washed and changed. It was long past midday by the time Bilbo started sorting out the cutlery and dishes and plates that were to go into the pavilion, set up in the field that backed onto their garden, for the reception after the wedding. Thorin didn't want to help - he could see Bilbo getting frazzled and he got angry and short-tempered when he got like that, and would inevitably end up shouting at him - but he assisted in carrying out the crates to the huge white tent with Fíli and Kíli. He could hear them chattering loudly and boisterously behind him but he focussed on what Bilbo was saying, fearing the other man's stress-induced wrath. For someone so small, Bilbo had always had a mighty temper.

Bilbo directed him as to where to put the crate, but a sudden crash from behind them made them both freeze. Slowly Bilbo turned and saw Fíli and Kíli standing guiltily over a crate, looking as aghast as Bilbo did - though they were worried more for their skins than the state of the china they'd just dropped.

For a long moment there was absolute silence as the four of them stood there, nobody moving a muscle; just as the boys opened their mouths to apologise Bilbo turned and hurried out. Thorin threw a dirty look at the boys, who looked down, shame-faced.

"What were you two _doing?"_ he demanded, keeping his voice low but the anger was unmistakable. "Can you two do nothing without messing around?"

"We're sorry, uncle, we didn't mean -"

"No you didn't," he interrupted. "But that doesn't change the fact that -"

"Thorin?" Thráin's voice rang out and the old man appeared in the tent, looking worried. "I just saw Bilbo running off. Is he alright? Has something happened?"

"Nothing's happened, Father," he said, trying to smooth out the anger from his voice. This wasn't Thráin's fault. "I'm going after him." With a last glare at the boys, Thorin followed Bilbo's footsteps out of the pavilion tent and down to the end of the field. Thorin knew that was where he'd be.

Back when they'd first bought the house, it was this little stream at the end of the field that marked the border between their land and the forest beyond that had sold it to Bilbo. He'd fallen in love with the little bubbling brook and overhanging trees, so perfect for the tyre swing that still swung there since Frodo's fourth birthday, and often - especially in the last year of their marriage - he'd found Bilbo there by the gently tinkling water.

He was there now; Thorin could see him on the bank, his shoes beside him and his feet dangling in the water. He didn't look up as Thorin approached, not even when Thorin joined him, sitting beside him but with a space between them. Again, Thorin longed to close the distance between them but he didn't, knowing it would only make things worse.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

"I'm fine," Bilbo retorted. Thorin said nothing, not letting himself get riled as he usually would. Instead he kept silent and soon enough Bilbo let out a little huff, halfway between a sob and a sigh. "I'm so _tired,_ Thorin, and I'm so worried about Frodo and this wedding and _everything_ -"

"It's alright," Thorin told him, closing the gap between them and praying Bilbo wouldn't push him away. He didn't, his words dissolving into half-choked sobs which he muffled into Thorin's shoulder. Stomach tightening at that, Thorin rubbed gentle circles on Bilbo's back and pressed his lips to Bilbo's hair, squeezing his eyes shut; he didn't kiss him, but this unexpected closeness was something he hadn't expected and was too weak to refuse.

"He's going to leave me," Bilbo murmured, though his tears were still soaking Thorin's shirt. "He's going to marry Sam and move out, leaving me here alone -"

"It'll be alright," Thorin soothed, tightening his hold on him just slightly.

 _You don't have to be alone._ He didn't say it aloud, but he couldn't stop the thought from crossing his mind.

Bilbo gave a watery half-chuckle and pulled away; Thorin let him go. As Bilbo got up and walked away, Thorin reflected that his biggest mistake had been letting Bilbo go that first time fifteen years ago, and since then Bilbo was always walking away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do so hope you guys are continuing to enjoy it! <3


	5. Chapter 5

Bilbo had spent the rest of yesterday avoiding Thorin as much as possible, after his little breakdown by the stream. He hadn't meant to rush off like that in the first place and Thorin's seeming patience had been the last straw, and he hadn't been able to hold back the tears. No doubt Thorin thought him terribly silly now, and weak, but he didn't think about that. He didn't care what Thorin thought about him anyway.

When he woke up the next morning the rest of the house was already bustling and busy, and when he looked at the clock he noticed it was already mid-morning. Alarmed, he got up and dressed quickly, heading to the kitchen for breakfast and some tea.

He found his mother and Thráin sitting chatting - more like gossiping, if Bella's grin was anything to go by - in the kitchen and ignored his mother's sharp look as he put the kettle on.

"We had a visitor earlier, dear," she said conversationally as she buttered her toast. She didn't look at him and he watched her, curiosity piqued now.

"Oh?" he asked, just as nonchalantly.

"Yes," Bella said, finally looking up at him. "Lobelia came calling."

Bilbo felt whatever semblance of a good mood he'd had completely dissipate with that news. He only just managed to stifle a groan. "What's _she_ doing here?" he asked, more to himself than anyone else as he dropped the tea-towel he was holding. "The wedding's not for another few days..." Just as he made his way to the door Bella piped up.

"She's gone now," she told him. "Don't worry about that. No, Thorin took her out and away so she'd leave the rest of us in peace."

Bilbo froze. "Thorin did?"

"And Frodo," Bella conceded. "But it was Thorin's idea."

"But why would he...?" Bilbo trailed off, nonplussed. Why would Thorin of all people offer to take one of the most rude and distasteful people in all of Hobbiton out for a walk? He hated her!

"He's still very insulted by that slur she made about your plum pie last year, isn't he, Bilbo?" she said, turning to Thráin and shooting a quick hard look at Bilbo. "She claimed Bilbo had gone and got it from the supermarket, if you can believe that!" she said, leaning in almost conspiratorially.

"Yes, that's right," Bilbo said distractedly, padding over to the living room and finding all the Durins minus Thorin and Thráin in various positions in the room- Dís tucked neatly into the sofa, Frerin spreading out in the arm chair and Fíli and Kíli lounging at the bay window.

"Where's Thorin?" he asked, too confused to hide his confusion. And rather impressed, if he was honest - or, he would be if Thorin made it back alive.

"He went out," Frerin said, his mouth full of toast. "What?" he asked innocently as Dís and Bilbo shot him hard looks.

"Frerin," his sister berated him. "Anyone would think you were five."

"Don't get crumbs down the cushions," was all Bilbo said, too preoccupied with the thought of Thorin enduring Lobelia Sackville-Baggins' company. "Did Thorin say where he was going?"

"Aye," Dwalin said from behind him, making Bilbo jump and squeak as he moved out of the way, settling a hand to his suddenly racing heart. "Said 'e was going to the town where there's a lot of people." Dwalin settled himself down next to Dís on the sofa.

"Don't _do_ that," Bilbo said, leaning against the door. This wedding was going to kill him, he was sure of it. "And Frodo?"

"Went with him," Balin said, suddenly appearing too. "Said he quite liked having both his fathers around and wanted it to stay that way."

"Thought you'd be pleased Lobelia's inflicting herself on Thorin," Dwalin said with a wolfish grin. "One less thing for you to do today, eh?"

He gave Bilbo a hard look - not threatening, simply a _look._ Of all of them, Dwalin had always remained on Thorin's side, as much as anyone could - he'd made it clear that he thought Bilbo had been wrong to break off their marriage, but at the same time didn't hold it as a grudge. Yavanna knew, Thorin and Bilbo did that well enough on their own.

"Very funny," Bilbo snapped, unimpressed, and stomped off back to the kitchen. Frerin's words followed him - "at least he'll be nice and meek when he gets back!" Bilbo gave a snort. Thorin was anything but meek, not even after being on the end of Lobelia's snobby rudeness. In fact, he'd always handled her visits rather well - better than Bilbo ever had, at any rate. While Bilbo sat fuming and grinding his teeth at her tirades, Thorin would nod and hum in sympathy and making vaguely cutting remarks she never quite got were aimed at her, before turning to Bilbo and kissing away his frown and tension once she'd gone, his chuckles melting Bilbo's icy fury.

Bilbo angrily scrubbed at a dish to distract him from that thought. It was no good going down that particular route of memory lane.

When he was done in the kitchen he went out to the large white tent and began sorting out the furniture. He unpacked tables and chairs, setting them along the edges (and absolutely refusing Fíli and Kíli's help); when that was done he and his mother sat quietly in there, counting out tablecloths and linens and napkins, sorting out where the bunting and decorations would go. Thráin joined them halfway through, occasionally inputting with some dry remark which reminded Bilbo so forcefully of Thorin in their good days that it almost hurt. One thing was for sure, he was doing much better than before.

At one point during a little break, Thorin came out of the back door and Bilbo caught him watching them out of the corner of his eye; he hadn't noticed them getting back. At least he was alive, though, and seemingly in one piece. Much as Bilbo didn't like the amount of time he was being forced to spend with him because of this charade (Thorin would usually stay a night or two at most; if he wanted Frodo for longer it was during the holidays at his flat), he supposed it would put a downer on the whole wedding if one of the grooms' father couldn't make it.

"You know," a voice said behind him and once again that day, he jumped , breathing a sigh of relief when he saw it was only Thráin. "Frodo told me that at one point you and my son were having...difficulties, but you don't know how much it gladdens me to see you two like this," the old man said and with alarm Bilbo could see tears damp in the corner of his eyes, despite his smile. "It reminds me of when you two were getting married," Thráin smiled, "though you wouldn't believe the nerves Thorin had a couple of days before the big one. Crippling, they were," he sighed, looking off out of the opening and staring out at the fields and forests as if lost in a memory. "'I just want to be good to him,' he said, looking at me with such fear as I hadn't seen in him since his first day of big school. 'To him and our child.'"

Bilbo had looked away, following Thráin's gaze; but as he spoke about Thorin he felt his control threaten to disappear and he pressed his lips together and breathed through his nose in an attempt to stay calm.

"He was," he said, busying his hands again with the napkins. "He is."

"I know," Thráin said softly, one large hand coming to rest warmly on Bilbo's shoulder. "And it warms me to my very toes to see him, even now as in love with you as he was the first time he brought you home."

Bilbo forced himself to smile and Thráin returned it, infinitely more easily, before turning and making his slow way back up to the house. Bilbo sighed heavily, resting his head in his hands at the mixture of feelings welling up in him. Guilt, for lying to Thráin; exhaustion from playing this game; most importantly - and dangerously - was the part of him that warmed and yet hurt to hear about Thorin and what he'd said, and the regret that momentarily surged through him that what Thráin thought he saw couldn't be true. Thorin cared for him no more than as the inconvenient other parent of his child.

Just as Bilbo regarded him, he told himself. He didn't _want_ the heartache he knew was inevitable if he let Thorin in again - they'd hurt each other once before, Bilbo with his blind encouragement and Thorin with his words and his actions afterwards, though when things really went downhill Bilbo had been just as guilty as Thorin of cutting, hurtful remarks spoken in the heat of the moment, their lashing not as easily forgotten as they both pretended.

Perhaps what hurt the most was that _Bilbo_ had told Thorin to take that job; he'd encouraged him to take up that offer of the position at Arkenstone Industries. And that had been where their end had begun, as things were never as perfect as they seemed. Bilbo's mother had always told him to be careful of what he wished for; in all his life it had taken the consequences of that job offer to prove the wisdom of those words to him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next instalment! The plot (haha) thickens in this chapter...ish. :D I hope you enjoy!

Thorin wasn't sure why he'd volunteered to take Lobelia for a walk - she was a gossipy, rude, conniving old bag with not a good word to say about anyone, but he had anyway. Perhaps it was because he'd thought if she got what she wanted now, she'd give them a break until the wedding. He hadn't done it for Bilbo. (Deep down, he knew he had; perhaps he thought he could win Bilbo back over by rescuing him from unwanted visitors like Lobelia, which, also deep down, he still hadn't given up hope of.)

Either way, he was exhausted as he and Frodo made their way back to the house after listening to Lobelia's sniping and complaining for a good solid hour. At least they were treated to a hero's welcome back at the house - by everyone but Bilbo, who remained stubbornly out in the pavilion, accepting no help but his mother's. Bilbo was going to run himself down if he continued on like this.

Dís had sorted dinner out early and when Bilbo still had not come in from the tent she sent one of the boys out to fetch him. If Thorin had gone Bilbo would probably just ignore him, or stay out there for longer just to be contrary. But he came in happily enough with Fíli, and dinner was alright - Bilbo didn't say much to him, but he didn't snap either; Thorin desperately wished for the ease of how things used to be. Mahal, it would even be better if they _were_ yelling at each other - at least then they knew where things stood between them. Thorin couldn't help his traitorous heart from wanting what it couldn't have.

They were halfway through dessert when the doorbell rang. Everyone froze for a moment, frowning.

"Who's that?" Bella asked no one in particular.

"Probably a guest, though I'm not expecting anyone else until tomorrow..." Bilbo said, trailing off as he stood up. They all watched him go, pausing in their eating as they listened for the click of the door opening and the conversation at the door. They all were silent as the door opened, listening intently.

There was silence for a few tense moments before a voice spoke, impossibly deep. "Hello, little bunny."

" _Beorn?_ " they heard Bilbo gasp and the snick of the door closing. "What are you doing here?"

"Little bunny's kitten told me he was getting married, and here I am."

"Frodo told you?" They heard the disbelief in Bilbo's voice and all eyes flicked to the young man currently trying to shrink into his seat and hide behind Pippin, looking intently at his plate. They all heard Bilbo take the newcomer into the living room, their voices becoming muffled, and for a few moments there was silence, before it was broken by Frodo setting down his cutlery and scraping his chair back.

"Well," he said, "I'm off to see Sam -"

"You most certainly are not, young man," Thorin said and Frodo sat back down again at the look in Thorin's eyes, just like he had as a child. "Not until you tell us who this Beorn is."

"Dad," Frodo said, looking a little desperate.

"Tell me," Thorin said sharply. The sound of Bilbo's laughter sounded through the walls and everyone shifted uncomfortably. "Frodo," he said warningly and the lad looked back at his plate before looking back at his father. He'd always looked away when he was lying.

"He's a friend," he said, meeting Thorin's gaze.

"Of yours?" Thorin asked sarcastically.

"Yes," Frodo said, staring back defiantly before he caved. "Of Papa's." Thorin could see the unspoken truth in Frodo's eyes and he knew he should stop there, he had his answer and he risked giving it away to his father if he carried on; but his morbid curiosity wanted to know everything, no matter how much it stung.

"Into the corridor, now," he said, rising from the table and ignoring Thráin's confused look. Frodo followed him out looking like a naughty school child caught in his mischief. Thorin could hear Bilbo and Beorn talking still and his gut curdled. "How close a friend?" he demanded of his son, who bit his lip. Before Frodo could answer Bilbo stepped out of the living room, making a little noise of surprise when he saw them.

"Everything alright?" he asked suspiciously, glaring at Thorin, who gave a small smile in return.

"Just fine," he replied, and Bilbo just nodded and moved on, muttering something about honey and tea. Thorin turned his gaze back to Frodo before repeating his question, more sharply this time.

"They're just friends, Dad," Frodo said, "but they did...date for a few months a couple of years ago. That's all."

"How long is a few months?" Thorin asked, ignoring the way Frodo was looking at him. He couldn't stop his gut churning with jealousy at the thought of anyone else even touching Bilbo, not that he had in that way in fifteen years.

"Two, maybe three?" Frodo replied, exasperated. "But they're just friends now, I promise, Dad."

Thorin closed his eyes and nodded. "Say hello to the Gamgees for me, will you," he said, and Frodo made a hum of agreement. He felt a cool kiss pressed to his cheek and heard Frodo pop back to the kitchen and say his goodbyes, before popping in to say hello to Beorn. He sounded entirely too happy to see him, and Thorin already didn't like this man. Frodo was _his_ son.

"Thorin? Are you alright?" he heard Bilbo ask warily as the door shut behind Frodo, making him open his eyes; Bilbo stood before him with two cups of tea.

"What? Yes, fine," he replied abstractly.

"Frerin's on tea duty," Bilbo told him and Thorin made a face, pulling a smile from Bilbo - one of his small half-smiles which always made Thorin's heart stutter, and this was no exception. "If you fancy your chances, why don't you get a cup and join us in the living room - the others are coming too."

And with that, Bilbo was off, his cheerful voice sounding less strained than Thorin had heard in a long while. With a resigned sigh - he had no bedroom to retreat to, so he had no choice in the matter really - he pushed himself off the wall and got his cup of tea, salvaging it from becoming tea-y milk under Frerin's generous (or sloppy; Thorin would go for the latter) helping.

"Thorin," Dís said under her breath as he picked up his cup. "Father's getting suspicious."

"I know," he said curtly, and put on his best carefree face as he turned to take Thráin's cup and help him to the living room. Once there he took his seat next to Bilbo on the sofa, knowing his father was watching; if he sat closer than was strictly necessary as he angled his body towards Beorn, sizing him up, then it was his own business.

Beorn was huge. There was no other word for it - he was bigger than Thorin or even Dwalin, and they were both broad-shouldered, beefy blokes. Beorn was something else entirely, and the thought of _him_ in bed with _Bilbo_ -

When Thorin chanced a glance at his ex-husband, he'd turned a rather fetching shade of pink and was deliberately avoiding meeting Thorin's eye.

"So you're Thorin," Beorn said, standing to greet him. Thorin rose too; he only reached Beorn's nose. Bilbo couldn't have been much higher than his chest. "The one Little Bunny always spoke of."

"Beorn, what have I told you about calling me that?" Bilbo sighed, still studying the sofa leather intently.

"I am," Thorin said, taking Beorn's outstretched hand. Beorn's grip was firm, strong; Thorin met his gaze defiantly and didn't flinch from those sharp black eyes. The rest of the room was silent for a minute as neither of the two of them moved, still staring each other down; eventually Beorn let go and sat back down, making a hum of satisfaction. Thorin sat back down so close to Bilbo their arms were touching, but he didn't move.

The rest of the family pitched in eventually, breaking the suddenly icy atmosphere, while Thorin sat there fuming. Why would Frodo invite this man to his wedding? Surely he'd have known that it might be...problematic?

Seemingly not, and Bilbo didn't seem to approve of his immovable stoicism, glaring at him every now and again to encourage him to take part. Thorin tried, but how could he when he saw Beorn lean closer over his tea to whisper something in Bilbo's ear? It didn't matter that Bilbo looked unimpressed by what he'd said, instead saying only, "you're not funny", to which the large man had responded, "perhaps not, but I am right."

When he saw that, Thorin put his arm around Bilbo's waist possessively, knowing Thráin was watching. He ignored the way Bilbo went as stiff as a wooden plank at his touch.

It was a long evening until finally people started heading to bed, no sign of Frodo - the traitorous little thing had obviously decided to stay over at Sam's and avoid all confrontation that might occur.

Bilbo glared at him as he got up. "We need to talk," he hissed sharply, before turning to Beorn with a smile as he led him to one of the guest rooms. Thorin went to the bathroom while he waited, cleaning his teeth and studying his face in the mirror, wondering what Bilbo saw there. The father of his child? The biggest mistake of his life? The man who'd disappointed him too many times to count? Or the man who'd forgotten himself in his work, so much so that he'd hardly come home and when he did hardly spoke to his husband or his son? Thorin would never forgive himself for getting ill like he had, and what it had made him do...

He looked away sharply, turning and finishing up before hurrying back to the living room. Before he got there though, a looming figure appeared in front of him, blocking his way.

"Excuse me," Thorin said through gritted teeth, glancing up at Beorn, who was studying intently.

Beorn said nothing for a few long moments, just regarding Thorin, who gave a huff of impatience.

"You still love him," Beorn said eventually, his dark eyes sharp and seeing more than Thorin wished to share.

Thorin grit his teeth and refused to answer.

"I told the same to him, you know," the large man continued and Thorin glanced up. Was he saying...? That Bilbo...? "He was hurting when I met him, even then," Beorn said, his low voice rough in the quiet. "He hadn't forgotten, and I helped it hurt a little less. But it's only you who can heal him."

"How can I when he doesn't want me to?" Thorin whispered through cold lips. Beorn didn't say anything else, just gave him a hard look before entering the bathroom.

Thorin's heart was beating rapidly as he made his way back to the living room, where he made his bed on the sofa of a night. Bilbo was already there waiting for him, wearing that silly old threadbare robe he always wore. The sight made Thorin's mouth go dry momentarily - the number of times Bilbo had pulled it on in the mornings, grinning at him like a satisfied cat; or when he'd slowly peeled it off, tasting Bilbo's flesh as he did so, leaving trails of goosebumps on his skin.

"Thorin, are you listening to me?" Bilbo was saying and Thorin forced himself to focus. "How do you expect me to -"

Thorin couldn't help it. He'd endured tantalising images of Bilbo in bed with this Beorn man, rutting and riding him as he once had Thorin, in the bed _they'd_ bought together; the robe with so many memories was the final straw and he couldn't stop himself from reaching for Bilbo and silencing him with a kiss, crashing his lips onto Bilbo's.

Bilbo made a noise of protest, one hand hitting at his shoulder fiercely enough to sting, before clutching at his shirt so tightly his knuckles went white, while Thorin's hands found their accustomed place at his hips. Bilbo's lips had parted under Thorin's and Thorin was lightheaded at the feel of his Bilbo against him, in his arms, the taste of him, _his_ -

Suddenly Bilbo pulled back violently, leaving him gasping for air; a sudden smack hit his cheek and left him reeling, the sound echoing loudly in the quiet room, the only other sound their laboured breathing. Thorin focused his gaze back on Bilbo, whose face was angry and his body was quivering with rage, his hand held aloft as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd done.

"I am _not_ yours anymore, Thorin," he hissed. "You do not _own_ me, and you have no right to be jealous of Beorn. Of _anyone_ I choose to spend my time with. I'm not _yours."_ Bilbo's voice was shaking.

"You should be mine," Thorin whispered, his voice thick and he knew it was with tears. He hadn't cried since Bilbo had first told him to move out, and he was damned if he was going to start again now. "I should be yours."

Bilbo just shook his head, and when he spoke again his voice was calmer but no less furious. "Perhaps you should have thought about that before you went and risked everything we had, and all because you were _jealous_ again."

And with that Bilbo pushed past him while Thorin's face crumpled at the reminder of what he'd done, the final nail in the coffin of their marriage and the one thing he'd regret for the rest of his life, because it had been his jealousy that had driven them apart for good.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it turned out this angsty! I honestly never meant it to. It was supposed to be a rom-com, but haha. That didn't happen.

Bilbo had known Thorin was the jealous type as soon as they became serious, and especially after they were first married. It was endearing, his protectiveness, and Bilbo didn't mind because all he wanted was Thorin and Thorin only wanted him. They were happy - more than happy - and once Frodo was born Thorin's protective nature had found another outlet, though he would still get a little jealous when Bilbo was particularly friendly with any other man (Bilbo had found it sweet and besides, Bilbo would just have to _show_ him just how much he loved him).

But then he'd gotten sick, and his protectiveness became possessiveness. Thorin was rarely at home, but when he was Bilbo soon learned that mentioning anyone else would lead to an argument; sometimes he'd pander to it for Frodo's sake, avoiding the shouting that would inevitably follow, but other times he'd lose patience with tip-toeing around his husband and would be unnecessarily spiteful in his speaking of other friends, goading Thorin until they fell to battling it out with tongues and touches rough with emotion.

But then Thorin had stopped doing that when provoked, and had instead gone out, slamming the door behind him and leaving Bilbo feeling petty and mean and desolate as the angry shouts of before rang in his ears and the sight of Thorin's back turned to him making him want to run after him and apologise. He never did, though; a mixture of pride and uncertainty that it would achieve anything always held him back. He'd go to their cold bed alone, feeling too small for the large mattress and doing his best not to cry; he'd wake in the early hours of the morning when Thorin would come back, slipping between the sheets to hold Bilbo in his warm arms. Bilbo would desperately want to melt into his embrace, kiss away the frown he could hear as Thorin whispered a hoarse 'Bilbo?'.

But he wouldn't. He'd remain stiff in Thorin's arms, face turned away and eyes shut tight as he pretended to be asleep, until Thorin would give a sad sigh and release him, turning away so they were facing opposite directions, separated by more than just the space between them. Bilbo would wake to a cold and empty bed, Thorin long gone to work and Frodo asking why his daddy never wanted to play with him anymore.

Bilbo had thought about it a lot in the fifteen years they'd been apart, and he knew he should have made Thorin see a doctor or something, _anything,_ but it had been obvious he wasn't well and goading and provoking one another had been perhaps the worst thing they could have done. Thorin needed time away from that place, that _man,_ and what should have been his sanctuary became his second hell.

Really, it wasn't surprising that he'd done what he had.

Frodo had been over at a friend's house and Bilbo, not wanting to be alone in the empty house, had invited a friend over for coffee and, of course, cake. That was all it had been, though when Bard had pressed a vanilla-flavoured kiss to his lips Bilbo had frozen with shock, brushing it off as the man simply missing his wife, though she'd been gone a few years by then, and they'd spoken no more of it. Even if he had been intrigued by the feel of Bard's lips, so different to Thorin's, moving against his own; he hadn't kissed Thorin in what felt like an age, the man who came home at night almost a stranger, and a tiny part of him questioned if it would be so very wrong to enjoy the feel of someone loving him again. He'd quickly pushed aside those thoughts - he loved Thorin, Yavanna help him, he loved that man so much it _hurt_.

But then Thorin had come home early, a rare at best occurrence, to find a man sat beside his husband at his kitchen table. Bilbo knew what it must have looked like - and in Thorin's poor sick mind, it was the evidence of Bilbo's betrayal. He'd come in like a shadow, his face set like stone, and Bilbo's smile had died on his lips at the sight of him. He'd said a quick goodbye to Bard, and then, once they were alone, all hell had broken loose.

It had been an argument of epic proportions, with accusations and hurtful words and tears and physical hurt on both sides as Thorin accused Bilbo of going behind his back and Bilbo said things he wanted to take back as soon as his blood had cooled enough to remember them. Hurtful things about Thorin and his manhood and maybe _that_ was why he never came home, even going so far as to accuse him of having his little bit on the side too, some young office boy with dimples and peach fuzz on his lip only too happy to service him for a promotion -

Bilbo remembered well the sudden deathly silence as Thorin had grabbed him then, a hand around his throat, and the bitter taste of fear as they both froze. But then the hot fury in Thorin's eyes had cooled to ice and he'd let go, Bilbo slumping against the wall and getting his breath back as the door slammed shut behind Thorin and his ears rang with all the terrible things they'd both said.

He'd had to put on a brave face for Frodo, pretending he didn't know why his daddy wasn't home even when it was time to put his son to bed. Late he may be, but Thorin was always there to say goodnight to his boy. Except this time he wasn't, and while Bilbo was desperately worried he refused to call Thorin. Let the man sulk if he wished; Bilbo wasn't going to mother him.

Thorin hadn't got home until the sky was lightening outside and the birds had begun to sing, his breath stinking of alcohol as he tried to confess what he'd done. Bilbo just put him to bed and carried on as normal for Frodo; when he got back from taking him to school and Thorin had woken and sobered up enough to tell him what had happened.

Bilbo remembered with agonising clarity every shame-faced, guilty, anguished word of his confession; he'd replayed it so many times in his head every time he was unsure of whether he was doing the right thing or not that he hardly needed to think about the words in which Thorin admitted he'd nearly gambled away everything they had and it was a stroke of luck only that had kept them from becoming homeless and penniless in a moment.

The news had made Bilbo's insides freeze, and it was that and the memory of the hands closing around his neck that had made him ask Thorin to leave. The pain on Thorin's face was imprinted on the back of his eyelids and he saw it all the time, his pain both at Bilbo's words and the knowledge that it was his fault. Bilbo knew now that Thorin wasn't only to blame - if he'd made him get help, if he hadn't let Thorin's words get to him, so many _if_ s and _should have_ s, and all of them too late.

The fact remained that it was low to use what Thorin had done that time, ill and confused and upset, like he just had, throwing it in his face and wearing it as armour. Bilbo was just as guilty, but Thorin was incapable of seeing beyond the thing he'd done and, considering he was so dominant in other areas, he'd hardly put up a fight; he couldn't see that Bilbo had played his part too and Bilbo knew he felt remorse keenly. He'd been cruel to use it then.

But Thorin had kissed him and Bilbo hadn't pushed him away - worse, he'd allowed himself to enjoy it, even if just for a moment. He didn't want to, he didn't want the pain that would inevitably come from letting him back in; even those few short seconds Thorin's lips had been on his had threatened to undo everything he'd worked hard to achieve these past fifteen years, and he'd lashed back the only way he knew how.

Bilbo's sleep was disjointed, broken; he woke as the sky was already a pale grey and, giving up on sleep, he dressed and headed down to the stream, taking some bread with him to nibble on. Even when his stomach was tight with emotion, Bilbo still got hungry. He didn't stop by the stream and instead crossed it, heading into the undergrowth that formed a screen, hiding him from the house. He didn't want to be there when everyone woke up, as that would mean facing Thorin, and he wasn't sure if he could do that yet.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there for, only that his hunk of bread wasn't enough and his stomach was soon rumbling. He could hear clattering from the house as people got up and ready for the day, and soon after he heard the dreaded but unavoidable sound of footsteps crossing the stream. Thorin appeared in the grove, looking surprised to see him, before starting to back away.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly as he turned. "I didn't know -"

"Thorin," Bilbo said quietly and Thorin immediately fell silent. Bilbo looked up, his gut twisting a little at the state of Thorin - he looked as if he hadn't slept a wink, and Bilbo couldn't be certain that the redness of his eyes wasn't from tears. Thorin never cried - he could count the times he'd seen him _really_ cry on one hand and still have fingers to spare.

He tried to give a smile and mostly succeeded, though it was wobbly, and patted the ground beside him. Thorin looked at him in surprise but said nothing, only lowered himself stiffly to the ground and began picking at the dead leaves on the floor, not looking at Bilbo.

"I'm sorry about last night," he offered and Bilbo looked down too when he felt Thorin's gaze on him. "I didn't mean to -"

"It's alright," Bilbo said brusquely, hoping his disappointment didn't show; just for one second he'd hoped Thorin _had_ meant to, that his words spoken after were true and not just the product of some leftover possessive corner of him that didn't like other people touching his things. Just a tiny part of him wished that Thorin still wanted him, as he knew he did Thorin - not that he'd ever admit it to anybody, not even himself. He knew that the ache that he sometimes got in his chest when looking at him was longing. "I'm sorry too," he said, throat catching on the words.

"You're right, though," Thorin said quietly, tearing a leaf into strips. "I'll never forgive myself for the things I said, Bilbo, not ever."

"I said some terrible things too," Bilbo whispered, all too aware of Thorin's warmth beside him. At least he couldn't see his face. "And you weren't well, I should have taken care of you, not said those _things_ -"

He stopped as a hand closed about his wrist and tugged gently, pulling him around so that he was facing Thorin, whose other hand came up to cup his cheek. Bilbo's eyes fluttered closed for a moment at the feel of Thorin's palm, warm and calloused as he remembered, on his face.

"I don't blame you," Thorin said softly and Bilbo's stomach twisted with guilt. Thorin could never blame anyone for anything.

"You should," Bilbo said, his eyes not leaving Thorin's blue ones. He'd always loved Thorin's eyes and when Frodo had kept those big blue orbs beyond his first few months, Bilbo had been delighted. Thorin just shook his head and Bilbo trembled as his rough thumb stroked his cheek ever so gently, as if Bilbo was something precious about to break. He knew with an agonising certainty what Thorin was about to do and he bit his lip. "Please don't," he whispered as Thorin leaned in to kiss him. "Please."

Thorin had frozen at Bilbo's words, resignation settling over his features but he didn't let go, and Bilbo found that he almost didn't want him to; the sudden cold when those warm hands were removed was a shock to his system and he breathed out a short huff of air.

"I'm sorry," Thorin said again and to Bilbo's horror his voice was catching on the words.

"Thorin," he said desperately as the other man got to his feet.

But they both froze as light footsteps sounded crossing the brook and suddenly Frodo appeared, his smiling face slipping into confusion as he regarded them, both only just keeping hold of the last shreds of control. "Papa?" he asked, looking puzzled. "Dad?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's the next chapter! Apologies for the bit of a break, and unfortunately I'm not sure when I'll next be able to update - Thursday is going to be a...rather important day for me and depending on how that goes I'll either be depressed or bouncing off the walls. Hopefully it'll be the latter!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy. ^_^

Thorin's heart was stuttering painfully as Frodo appeared in the grove and he tried to get his emotions back under control, hiding them beneath his usual stony expression - but it was too difficult, with Frodo there looking at him in concern. Frodo immediately threw himself into Thorin's arms, his curls, ebony versions of Bilbo's, tickling his face. He clutched at his son fiercely, finally getting hold of himself, and when Frodo pulled away he sniffed and nodded at Frodo's worried look.

Frodo turned to look at Bilbo - Thorin couldn't bring himself to - and their son moved to give his papa a hug. Thorin was scared at what he might see on Bilbo's face if he looked now, and he wanted to keep at least a scrap of dignity. He'd sacrificed most of it already with his inability to accept that Bilbo didn't want him, and he had no wish to lose it all.

Frodo had grabbed a hand each and Thorin had no choice but to allow him to pull him around, he and Bilbo both looking at their son and avoiding the other's eye.

"What happened?" Frodo asked in nearly a whisper, taking in Thorin's visible emotion and - Thorin stole a glance before his courage left him - Bilbo's bitten lip and red eyes.

"Nothing happened," Bilbo said, trying to be cheerful but his voice shaking a little. He looked at Thorin ever so quickly before returning his gaze to Frodo. "We're both just worried about your wedding, that's all."

Frodo's concern morphed into relief mixed with a slight hint of worry. "You've been working so hard, papa, you're exhausted," he said, squeezing Bilbo's hand just a little. Bilbo just gave a little hum and looked down, brushing at his eyes with his free hand.

"Someone's got to worry though, haven't they? So that you don't have to," he said. "You should be walking with your head in the clouds and feet hardly touching the ground for excitement, not here worrying about your father and me."

"Were _you_?" Frodo asked quietly, glancing at Thorin before looking back at Bilbo, his grip on Thorin's hand tightening infinitesimally. Thorin's heart stuttered again, throat closing up, and he was grateful for his son's hold on his hand. "Were you up in the clouds before your wedding?"

Bilbo had started at the question, but didn't flinch from it. "Yes," he said softly, so softly Thorin almost didn't hear it; as it was his throat constricted painfully. "I do believe I was." His eyes met Thorin's for just a moment, though it was a moment that felt both like a hundred years and at the same time not long enough, before looking back at Frodo. Thorin felt as if he was made of stone.

"I love you," Frodo said. "I love you both." And with that he pulled both his parents into a hug before they even registered it, Bilbo tucked against Thorin's shoulder as they hugged Frodo back. Bilbo gave a watery little laugh when Frodo finally released them, making shooing gestures at him.

"Go on," he said. "Go and find your cousins and try not to get in the way." Frodo grinned and did as he was bid, though not before shooting Thorin a hard look as he did appeared back out of the trees and across the stream. They were left alone again, silence descending as neither knew what to say.

"Is it true?" Thorin finally asked, forcing Bilbo to look at him with the intensity of his question. Bilbo knew what he was referring to.

"Absolutely," he replied quietly, looking Thorin in the eye and Thorin could feel himself being lost in those green eyes he so loved. "Marrying you made me the happiest man alive, Thorin." He sounded tired.

Until I made you the unhappiest, Thorin thought to himself but he said nothing, looking at his feet as he struggled to find the words for what he wanted to say, but Bilbo interrupted him with a hand on his arm, that simple touch making his heart leap, perhaps what made him feel as if he were going to have a coronary was the small smile Bilbo aimed at him. It was a tiny, nervous, fleeting thing, but Thorin would take what he could get. He hurried to return it, it feeling strange on his face, but it made Bilbo's that little bit brighter.

"I hope you can forgive me what I said yesterday," Bilbo said.

"I could never not," Thorin told him, hoping he would understand he meant it.

Bilbo's smile turned just a little melancholy. "I'm selfish enough to be glad of it," he said and turned to go; when Thorin turned to follow Bilbo even hooked his arm through the crook of Thorin's and they walked back to the house in such a manner, not saying much but Thorin's heart was doing somersaults at just that simple touch of a warm hand on his.

No matter how much he warned it against it, his heart couldn't help but hope that the gentle smile might mean he yet had a chance after all. The heart, it seemed, was by far the most reckless organ of all, the number of times it laid itself open to be hurt like this. Reckless, or stupid.

:::

They didn't speak much for the rest of the day, Bilbo busy out in the pavilion tent and Thorin helping Bella in the house. He was distracted, however, and she seemed to know why, if her little smirk was anything to go by. Dinner was loud and noisy, what with so many of them, and even more due to arrive the next day.

Once again Bilbo woke him up early the next day, in time for a quick run-through of the ceremony. They met Sam and his parents there and Thorin couldn't help but smile as he watched Frodo and Sam together. Frodo's smile never once slipped from his face and his eyes hardly left Sam's face all the while they practiced their vows, and Sam was much the same. He was a quiet man, Thorin knew, but he seemed to love Frodo as much as Frodo loved him, and that was enough for him. If Sam loved him even half as much as Thorin had - did _still_ \- loved Bilbo, they'd be alright.

They got back to the house afterwards and Frodo was still smiling, though as the day progressed and everywhere was a whirlwind of activity as people were busy getting everything ready for tomorrow and the wedding, finishing the tent and putting out the flowers that had been ordered and setting tables and storing food, Frodo started to look a little sick. He came to Thorin as he was busy with Bella in the kitchen, following Bilbo's harried orders.

Thorin looked up as Frodo came in, face pinched with worry, and immediately stopped what he was doing.

"Dad?" Frodo asked and Thorin pulled him into a hug, Frodo holding onto him as if for dear life. "I'm scared," he heard his son whisper and he released him, pulling him away to somewhere quiet. He sat Frodo down on the sofa in the empty living room, the boy biting his lip, and Thorin gave a gentle smile.

"It's only natural to be scared," he said quietly. "I was scared before my wedding." Frodo looked vaguely astonished at that, forgetting his own fear in surprise, and Thorin chuckled, cupping the back of Frodo's head and curling his fingers in the dark curls, a comforting gesture ever since Frodo had been small. "I was bloody terrified," he admitted.

Frodo smiled. "I can't imagine that," he said. "I thought you loved papa -"

"I did," Thorin said. "Don't you love Sam?"

"So much," Frodo whispered, biting his lip. "I love him so much it hurts to even think of not being with him."

Thorin smiled. "And that's why it's only natural to be scared. The day before I married your papa, I couldn't stop thinking about it all going to pot - what if he decided he didn't want me, what if I messed up, what if I did something wrong... It was all for nothing, of course, because the next day we were married and it was the happiest day of my life." He was smiling now, though it was slightly bittersweet, and Frodo leaned into Thorin's touch like a content cat.

"I know you still love him, dad," Frodo said quietly and Thorin looked down at his lap. "And though he's better at hiding it, I think he loves you too." Thorin retracted his hand from Frodo's hair, not meeting his son's eye.

"What Bilbo feels is nothing to do with me -"

"Dad," Frodo said sharply. "When you first left, Papa was inconsolable. I know he asked you to leave, I know that, but I remember the first few months without you. I didn't understand then, not really, but I remember the way Papa would go quiet whenever I asked where you were, he'd never sit in your place, and he never said bad things about you. Not once, not even when people asked about it." Frodo sighed as Thorin still stared at his lap, avoiding his son's eye like the coward he was. "He didn't even tell me why you split up until a couple of years ago, when I made him, and he made sure to tell me how it was his fault too."

Thorin shook his head. "Frodo, you don't -"

"Don't say I don't understand, dad!" he said fiercely. "I'm getting married tomorrow, I'm old enough to know!"

"Stop, Frodo, please," Thorin said, standing. "I know what you're trying to do, but please don't. I - I can't." Thorin was ashamed to feel years welling up in his eyes and he forced himself not to let them spill - he'd shed many tears over Bilbo Baggins over the years and he didn't want to let any more fall, no matter how desperately his heart wanted to.

Frodo just looked at him sadly and hugged him tightly before going off to find his cousins, leaving Thorin in the living room by himself, mind in a whirl. He looked up as someone came in and saw Thráin, who greeted him with a tired smile.

"I've just been helping Dís and Frerin with the bunting," he said as he sat down heavily in an armchair, and it was explanation enough. Thorin gave a snort, hastily pushing away the thoughts crowding his mind.

"That must have been fun," he said dryly and Thráin gave a small chuckle.

"I don't think your brother's really grown a day since he turned twenty," his father said. For someone in his early forties, Frerin still seemed to have all the exuberance of a puppy. "But how are you?" he asked, his gaze turning shrewd as he looked at his son.

"Better than Frodo," Thorin said, giving a small smile. "He's got the pre-wedding nerves."

"Ah," Thráin smiled, his eyes losing focus for just a minute as he remembered Thorin's case of the jitters. "You and Bilbo must be so looking forward to tomorrow - finally, your little bird is flying the nest."

"We are," Thorin nodded, doing his best to look unconcerned and genuinely happy, when in fact he and Bilbo were simultaneously dreading it, both for different reasons: Bilbo because it would mean Frodo would finally move out from good and leave him alone, and Thorin because no Frodo meant no reason to visit Bilbo and their contact would once again be terse, impersonal phone calls which couldn't end quick enough. And Thorin just hoped they'd get through the day without arguing, if Bilbo's nerves continued as frayed as they were now. He'd heard Bilbo giving Kíli an earful for putting a vase on the wrong table, and in their current state it was best that they avoid each other for the moment, and he said as much to his father, who laughed.

"But it's times like these that make you realise what a good thing you've got, isn't it?" Thráin sighed happily and Thorin thought that it rather showed him what a good thing he'd _lost_. Bilbo had made that perfectly clear.

He ended the conversation by getting up to make Thráin some tea and took some to Bella and Bilbo too; the change it wrought in Bilbo was instantaneous and miraculous and he let out a breath in a long huff, his shoulders relaxing as he gave Thorin a small smile of thanks.

Everyone was busy for the rest of the day, but not so busy that they didn't have time to all sit around for dinner - a meal which Beorn had prepared and seemingly outdone himself, for his honey roasted chicken really was rather delicious. There was a sense of nervous anticipation underlying the cheerfulness and more than one person had to coax Frodo to eat, the poor lad toying with his food rather than eating it. Even Merry and Pippin's challenge of speed-eating couldn't tempt him, though he did smile.

People began to drift off to bed after the post-dinner teas and coffees, Frodo heading off first. When there were only a few of them in the living room (Thráin was still up, however, so Bilbo was seated next to Thorin), Bilbo turned to him.

"I'm worried about Frodo," he said quietly.

"He's fine," Thorin said. "I spoke with him earlier. It's just nerves."

"I hope so," Bilbo sighed. "I don't like to see him so quiet." Neither spoke for a while, Bilbo studying his hand while Thorin tried not to seem too eager and tried to distance himself just a little, with no success. "Yavanna, I'm exhausted," Bilbo groaned a little, sinking forward and resting his head in his hands. Thorin touched him gently on the arm; Bilbo started but didn't pull away, to Thorin's unending relief.

"Get some rest," he said quietly. "It's going to be a long day tomorrow." Bilbo snorted but nodded, moving to get up; as he did so the doorbell rang. Thorin looked at him in puzzlement but Bilbo only sighed.

"The Bolgers," he said. "That'll be them."

Thorin pushed him gently back into his seat and went to the door instead, giving Bilbo a break. He'd met Bilbo's second cousins before and he greeted them warmly enough, Bilbo coming to meet them as Thorin took their coats. Thorin hadn't realised they'd be staying, and when Bilbo started making up the sofa bed while Bella made them tea Thorin started to panic.

"What are you doing?" he asked. This was _his_ sofa - where was he to sleep?  He certainly wouldn't fit in with Frerin, who already had Fíli and Kíli crashing on his floor.

"You'll be with me," Bilbo said matter-of-factly, as if it were obvious.

Thorin looked at him dumbly. "With you?"

Bilbo looked uncertain then. "Unless you don't want to. If you've got a better idea -"

"No, it's fine," Thorin said, perhaps too hastily. To hide his embarrassment he turned and retrieved his own blankets from behind the sofa, his cheeks red; Bilbo's were just as if not redder than his and had returned to making the bed with vehemence.

"I think I'll be glad for your company," Bilbo admitted as he smoothed out the covers. "The house is going to be so empty once everyone's gone."

Thorin didn't say anything, lest he give away how his heart was thumping fit to burst at Bilbo's quiet words, and only followed Bilbo to Bilbo's (once _their_ ) bedroom and quickly piled up his blanket and cushions on the floor, making a little nest. Bilbo gave him extra pillows and the throw to add and the final result was passable. They returned to chat quickly with the Bolgers before they all settled down to sleep; or Bilbo spoke with them while Thorin was accosted by a smug-looking Beorn.

"You're with him tonight," the man said and Thorin bit back a rude retort.

"Only on the floor and only out of necessity," he said, trying not to snap. "I don't know what you were referring to before but even so, Bilbo doesn't need me." He tried not to let the truth of those words get to him.

"He does," Beorn said quietly. "He needs you as much as you need him. I told you this; why else is Little Bunny asking you to sleep in his bedroom?"

"Don't call him that," Thorin muttered. Much as he had to admit it...suited Bilbo, with his soft curls and rounded body, he didn't like it when Beorn said it.

Eventually though it was time for bed and Thorin followed Bilbo back to their bedroom, changing in the bathroom while Bilbo did so in the bedroom and hurrying over to his nest of blankets and curling up in them, not looking at Bilbo alone in that big bed. Then he'd feel the need to join him, and hold him, and love him. Oh Mahal, Thorin wanted to show him how much he still loved him, but Bilbo didn't want it.

He listened to Bilbo's breathing as he tried to fall asleep, but it was strange having someone in his bedroom again. He hadn't had someone sleep in the same room as him in years, not since Frodo was young, and it felt entirely strange.

It must have been past midnight when Bilbo spoke into the darkness. "Thorin?" he whispered softly and Thorin froze.

"Yes?" he asked quietly.

Bilbo didn't answer immediately, and when he did he sounded almost fearful. "Could you...could you come here please?"

"There?" Thorin repeated dimly and he heard Bilbo's soft snort.

"Yes, here. The bed." As if in a trance, Thorin stood and made his way blindly to the bed. "I need to know I'm not alone," Bilbo said and Thorin was close enough now that he could see Bilbo biting his lip.

"You're not," he promised as he slipped under the covers on the opposite side to Bilbo, and then, while his courage was up, he blurted it out before his nerve failed. "You don't have to be alone after tomorrow," he said. "And I'm not referring to your mother."

Bilbo said nothing, only turned to face him. "You mean you'd stay?" Thorin's heart was thumping nine to the dozen at the sight of Bilbo with his bed-tousled hair, once again in the same bed as he. He looked the same as he ever had, as beautiful as he ever had, and Thorin yearned to touch him. He didn't, only nodded. Bilbo sighed and turned so his back was to Thorin.

"I don't know," he whispered and said nothing more. It was a start, Thorin told himself while at the same time trying desperately not to let himself hope.

Gradually Bilbo's breathing slowed with sleep and Thorin's eyelids grew heavy too; he was woken at one point by something cold brushing his leg; he realised it was Bilbo's foot, and before long both of Bilbo's cool feet were resting between Thorin's furnace-hot ones. The familiarity of the gesture made his heart flip and ache - back before he'd ruined things, they'd often fallen asleep like this, legs and feet twined together, though they'd usually have been cuddling or holding hands as well.

But now, just the feel of Bilbo's cool feet seeking confort from Thorin's warm ones made his heart ache. It was enough for now, but it wouldn't last. Thorin was greedy enough to always want more, but at least this once he could give Bilbo comfort. He'd probably hate him tomorrow, but Thorin made the most of what he'd been given and fell asleep with a hand gently carding through Bilbo's curls.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm back :D 
> 
> Firstly - this is the last proper chapter, but there will be an epilogue! Hence the increased chapter count :D Thank you all so much for your lovely comments on this story and I am so very glad you've enjoyed it so far - this is the last and _longest_ chapter, so I hope it makes up for the wait!
> 
> Speaking of which, that very important date I was referring to was in fact my results day, which I stressed over for nothing -- I got into my first choice university which I've been in love with ever since I first stepped on campus, so I'm ecstatic :D it's been a bit of a whirlwind since, which is why it's been quite so long since the last update, but now I'm finally back with this chapter, which I so hope you enjoy!!! <3

Bilbo woke early as the birds were still singing the dawn chorus and the sun, while up, was still pale in the pale duck-egg blue sky. He lay still for a few moments, breathing deeply and revelling in his momentary ignorance of what was to come later that day and instead simply focusing on breathing in then out, encased in warmth and strong arms and -

He froze. _Strong arms?_

Sudden realisation flooded over him and he snapped his eyes open, a broad chest with a pelt of dark hair just visible through the thin cotton shirt meeting his gaze, his nose pressed into that firm chest, which rose and fell in tandem with his own. Now he was awake and aware he noticed his legs were entwined with another pair, their bodies pressed close and a hand carding lazily and unconsciously through the curls on the back of his head.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

He'd completely forgotten that he'd let Thorin into his bed - once their bed - in a moment of weakness. It had been a long day and the thought of the wedding tomorrow had made him feel not a little uncertain; feeling very small in the darkness last night he'd reached out to Thorin, the one thing who always - had always and, Bilbo was sure, would always - be the only one who could anchor him, make him feel safe and secure.

Much as he didn't want to admit it, Bilbo was loath to leave this warm embrace. He hadn't been held so gently and tightly in years and just for a moment he wondered why he'd ever given it up, given _Thorin_ up - his grumbly gravelly morning voice, his bear-hugs, his soft kisses and the way he'd fit himself around Bilbo's body as they slept, as if he wanted nothing more than to be close to him. Finding himself back in Thorin's arms after so long running from them, Bilbo's heart was quivering with uncertainty and he had to bite his lip before he woke Thorin up. He didn't quite want this to end just yet.

Bilbo didn't know what was going to happen later, after Frodo and Sam were married; he didn't know what the long lonely months might bring. All Bilbo knew in that moment was that he didn't want Thorin to let go of him, because that would mean he'd have to go back to pretending he was indifferent and merely pretending to love Thorin, as they had been up until now; Bilbo had never been indifferent. He knew that now. All those arguments even after they's split had been the result of heightened emotions born of love; every sniping word and insult given because it was easier than admitting he'd been wrong to let Thorin go.

Just for a moment he pressed closer to Thorin, burying his nose deeper against the firmness of Thorin's chest and breathing in his smell, the smell Bilbo could never forget. If he ever turned blind, he was sure he'd know Thorin purely by his smell. Many a time, even when they'd been together, Bilbo had wished he could bottle Thorin's scent and keep it with him all the time. When they'd split up, Bilbo had found one of Thorin's old shirts in the back of their wardrobe and had kept it. It had lost the remnants of Thorin's scent pretty quickly, but he couldn't bring himself to part with it even so.

Suddenly the arms around him tightened and he tried to pull away, but he was firmly locked in Thorin's grasp as the bigger man moved and mumbled something sleepily, still asleep judging by the dead weight of his arms.

"Thorin," Bilbo whispered, and Thorin didn't respond. Bilbo was acutely uncomfortable now, sure his cheeks were flaming and he just wanted to get away, catch his breath and get his thoughts in order away from the luring, inviting arms of Thorin. " _Thorin,"_ Bilbo hissed a little more vehemently and poked him none too gently. Thorin grumbled but didn't wake up and Bilbo had to bite his lip to stem his annoyance. Instead he started trying to wriggle his way out from Thorin's arms, trying his damnedest to break free.

He was nearly there and was only a couple of moments from freedom when the arms that had so stubbornly refused to let him go suddenly did exactly that and Bilbo froze.

"What are you doing?" came Thorin's gravelly voice, still bleary with sleep, and Bilbo could only look up at him in exasperation. He'd had to wriggle down out of Thorin's arms and his face was currently getting dangerously low on Thorin's body - of course he'd been counting on Thorin only waking up once he was actually free and long gone - not _this!_

"What am I doing?" he repeated, meeting Thorin's sleep-hazed gaze. "I was trying to get away from you!"

"So why are you down there?" Thorin asked, sounding far too amused for Bilbo's liking. All his former regret and sadness was rapidly disappearing at that smug tone of voice. He spluttered with incredulity as he scrambled up, moving away from Thorin.

"Why - what - I'm _down here_ because you wouldn't let me go!" he replied hotly. "You wouldn't budge!"

To his relief Thorin didn't say anything, only nodded and closed his eyes again, rolling over as if to go back to sleep, but Bilbo stopped him before he could.

"It's time to get up," he protested. "You know what's happening later, and we've got to get everything ready first." Thorin let out a most pitiful whine as Bilbo pulled the covers off him, baring him to the morning air. It was the same as Frodo made, Bilbo realised with a pang. How hadn't he realised that before?

Well, it was of no matter now. Instead he focused on getting Thorin up and out of bed and, once he was sure he was fully awake and wouldn't go back to sleep as soon as he was gone, pulled on his robe and hurried to wake everyone else up before going to the kitchen and getting breakfast ready - Frodo's special birthday breakfast, and he was cutting no corners with it.

He was sure his face was still bright pink at that morning's events as everyone piled into the kitchen, though thankfully most people were too tired to really notice much beyond the food they piled onto their plates and tea they held between their hands to warm them. Bilbo was just grateful Thorin had got dressed before he joined them; he was sure no one was allowed to wear shirts that clung so perfectly and get away with it.

Frodo was pale and not eating much so Bilbo did his best to encourage him and Frodo, being his father's son after all, soon managed to get something down - something being two eggs, three slices of toast and an apple. He looked much better for it afterwards, though when it hit him that he'd be getting married in a few short hours he looked distinctly queasy again.

The ceremony was scheduled for early afternoon so after breakfast people drifted a little, though Bilbo was hurriedly going through everything and making sure everything was still on track, calling up the Gamgees and the official who'd be conducting the wedding; while everything was fine Bilbo couldn't stop himself fretting and spent the best part of the morning wringing his hands and compulsively checking the reception tent again and again.

It had rained a little overnight so the air was fresh and the scent of flowers prominent, but the sky was cloudless once again and it looked as if it would be another beautiful day (though of course he then began to worry that too much sun would make for bad photos and he only stopped when Dís put firm hands on his shoulders and forced him to calm down.)

After a very early, very light lunch people began to get ready, Bilbo and Thorin too. Bilbo changed in his bathroom and when he came out, already neat with his suit jacket still hanging and ready to be put on closer to time, he saw Thorin struggling with his cravat. He'd made a bit of a mess of it, in all honesty, and Bilbo took pity on him, moving over to help him.

"Have you still not worked out how to do it?" he asked in soft amusement as he took over, Thorin freezing at the unexpected contact. He huffed.

"No," he admitted and Bilbo smiled.

"How have you managed all these years?" he said quietly as he pulled on it.

"I wore ties," Thorin mumbled. "I can manage a tie."

"Can you now, " Bilbo smiled, straightening and smoothing down the material. It was a light cream with flecks of gold, which looked perfect against Thorin's dark hair. Bilbo did love Thorin's hair, and his beard was particularly well-groomed as well. He remembered the feel of it on his skin, though there'd been less grey in it in those days, and quickly ducked his head as he flushed at the memory, finishing his smoothing and moving to pull his hands away, but larger hands stopped him. He held his breath.

"Bilbo."

"Yes?" he asked, his voice not much more than a whisper.

"I meant what I said. Last night." Thorin's eyes were boring into his, not letting him look away. Bilbo tugged his hands out of Thorin's grasp and tried to look down, though his gaze flicked back up to Thorin.

"Let's not talk about this now," he said, though it came out much more pleading than he'd wanted.

"Then when?" Thorin demanded. "When will we talk about this, Bilbo? Over the phone in two weeks' time when I'm gone and you can dismiss it, and cause an argument in the process?" Thorin's voice was rough and Bilbo felt his eyes prickle with heat. He was so _tired_ , that was all.

"Later," Bilbo said in a vehement hiss. "When our son is married and on his honeymoon and there's not a hundred guests expecting our attention!"

Thorin gazed at him, looking mulishly stubborn and setting his jaw as if the answer displeased him, before he nodded stiffly. "Fine."

Bilbo let out a breath. "Yes, it is fine," he said, doing his best to keep his voice level. "It's got to be fine, because Frodo needs us. Both of us." He glared at Thorin, as if he doubted how much Thorin could really do, and Thorin merely snorted and hurried out of the room, jacket over one arm. Bilbo let him go.

When the guests were set Dís and Bella took charge of chivvying everyone but Bilbo, Thorin and Frodo out of the house and to the chapel, where the rest of the guests would be gathering too. It was less than an hour away and Frodo looked positively green. Seeing it, Bilbo sat him down and took his hand, Thorin beside him. Bilbo couldn't help but feel like this was the last time they'd all sit together like this - after today, Frodo would be Sam's. He was being silly, he knew, but he couldn't help it.

He pushed aside his own worries as he focused on calming Frodo.

"Frodo Baggins," he said quietly, clutching his son's hand tightly. He felt Thorin's warm palm on his elbow and had to focus his thoughts for a moment before he let them wander to the man in a sharp suit beside him looking unfairly good in it. "I promise you will be fine."

"But what if something goes wrong?" he asked them plaintively and for a moment he looked so like the confused little seven-year-old he once was that Bilbo's heart twisted painfully.

"It won't," Bilbo promised him. "It won't because you and Sam love each other, you two are the only ones that matter in all of this, and I _know_ that you two will be alright," Bilbo gave a smile, doing his best to hide his own uncertainty as he took his son's face in hand. He _was_ sure that Frodo and Sam would be fine; it was for himself he worried.

Frodo returned his smile and his shoulders slumped. "You're right," he said, gusting out a heavy breath. "It'll be fine." He looked at Thorin and then at Bilbo, his smile trembling just a tiny bit before he launched himself at his fathers, holding them close. "I love you," he whispered and Bilbo pressed a kiss to his hair while Thorin rubbed his back gently. For a moment it was almost like it used to be, when Frodo was still tiny and Bilbo would sit with him in his lap, sorting the lad's tangled bird's nest of curls while Frodo would chatter animatedly about his day, laughing as Thorin would tickle him and play with him. Things had been so uncomplicated and happy then, before Thorin had gone to work for that dreadful man Smaug and his corrupt company.

When Frodo released them he was much happier and, while still nervous, seemed suddenly eager to get to the chapel and get married already. Bilbo could sympathise; he'd had a roller coaster of emotions right up until they said the vows - absolute ecstatic elation one minute and crippling fear the next, but soon the happiness had overtaken them all.

After Bilbo had checked the pavilion tent one more time, he was firmly led away by a determined Frodo and Thorin and the three of them made their way to the chapel where everyone else was gathered already. There were white garlands of flowers lining people's fences to honour the occasion and when they got there it was all Bilbo could do not to break down and cry right then.

Afterwards, Bilbo couldn't have recounted the service, he was in such a state. All he knew was that it was Thorin's hand returning his death grip that kept him from blubbering everywhere and kept him standing; it was all a rather nebulous haze of smiles and flowers as Frodo and Sam could hardly keep their eyes off each other or the smiles from their faces as they repeated the words Gandalf spoke before proclaiming them married.

After that it was all a blur of confetti and rice being thrown at the couple and still the only thing keeping him upright was his iron grip on Thorin's hand, the other man returning it and his other hand occasionally encasing both of Bilbo's in a gesture achingly sweet and comforting. It reminded Bilbo of evenings spent lying entwined on a sofa as the rain fell outside and it was just the two of them - and then three - simply revelling in the other's company; it reminded him of sweet tea and the biscuits they'd attempt to eat without having to let go of the other's hand. It reminded him of when they were happy together, much as Frodo and Sam looked now.

Somehow the company of the jam-packed chapel made it back to Bag End, though at one point Bilbo was separated from Thorin and found himself on the receiving end of one of Gandalf's twinkly smiles and a warm old hand on his shoulder.

"I remember when it was you walking this walk back to the house, m'boy," he said fondly and Bilbo smiled.

"You can hardly call me a boy anymore, Gandalf," he said in mock exasperation. "Maybe I was then, but not now, surely."

"Lad," Gandalf said solemnly, "when you're as old as me, everyone's still a boy, no matter how old they think they are." He gave a wink and Bilbo rolled his eyes, grateful for the comforting hand of the old family friend on his shoulder. Gandalf was like an honorary father - or grandfather, seeing as he did like to boast about his age so.

Eventually they made it back to Bag End, Bilbo finding himself back with Thorin just behind Frodo and Sam, watching them laugh and duck from the still-enthusiastic confetti throwing of Frodo's incorrigible young cousins. Bilbo would have to make sure to remind the Brandybucks and the Tooks never to breed at the same time, using Merry and Pippin, disastrously close in age and mischievous temperament, as examples.

Mercifully the transfer into the pavilion was easy and quick and the caterers Bilbo had hired were already on standby to start serving drinks as everyone took their seats for the wedding lunch. Though really, Bilbo tried to explain, it was more of a wedding tea or dinner, given that they'd missed lunch; he fell quiet when Thorin merely gave him an amused smile at his nervous babbling.

The tables were arranged in a huge circle (a diplomatic choice, so that certain family members wouldn't take offence) and after the initial speeches (Frodo's was perfect, Hamfast's made even Bilbo laugh and Bilbo himself fluffed his and Thorin had to take over) it was time to eat. The food was the main attraction of the after party - after all, it was a marriage between the Bagginses and the Gamgees, and no one would have expected otherwise - and there were trays and platters of cold meats and vegetables and savoury pastries; dishes of stews and rices; everyone's favourite course, of course, was the desserts. There was a multitude of pastries and pies and fruit puddings and cakes, including the wedding cake - a four tiered behemoth of a creation, made of four different cake types all baked and decorated by Belladonna herself.

And, naturally, the alcohol flowed freely. Soon everyone was a little bit tipsy, though Bilbo didn't partake so much, preferring instead to watch his relatives make a fool of themselves - there was something, at least, to be said for weddings, he thought as he watched his old Uncle Isengrim pull his Aunt Donnamira onto the dance floor, both tripping over each other's feet and laughing the whole time. Bilbo was vaguely concerned when he saw Merry, Pippin, Fíli and Kíli tucked away in a corner with a huge stack of profiteroles before them, glancing around sheepishly. So long as they weren't sick, he didn't care - a sore belly would serve them right for stuffing too many pastries down their mouth at once.

Frodo and Sam were focused on each other, smiles like beacons lighting up their faces as they simply looked at each other for long moments, sharing a plate of food and holding hands. Watching them made Bilbo both happy for them but also melancholy as he remembered his wedding feast, with him and Thorin at the head of the table. Though he was sure they hadn't been as soppy as they currently were.

Seemingly, Thorin had been thinking the same thing.

"Surely we weren't like that," he said as Frodo and Sam shared a kiss, making some of the other guests coo in delight as they both backed away blushing.

Over on Thorin's other side, Bella and Thráin had been laughing loudly (Belladonna with some alcohol in her was a fearsome thing to behold) while Dís was keeping a firm grip on Frerin to stop him joining his nephews, but at Thorin's words they all stopped and looked at him pointedly.

"What?" Thorin asked defensively. "We weren't."

"Thorin Durin," Bella said sternly, though the effect was rather spoiled by the giggle she gave. "You and my son were sickeningly sappy on your wedding day. _Sickeningly_. Weren't they?" she nudged Thráin, who was chuckling into his whiskey.

"Oh yes," he said, eyes bright with mirth as he looked at Thorin and Bilbo, neither of whom had moved. "Though I remember when you got back from the honeymoon and all you'd talk about was Bilbo, not even the holiday - just Bilbo."

Bilbo felt himself flush as everyone chuckled at Thráin's words, but then Frerin broke in and Bilbo felt Thorin just about wilt in embarrassment - or he would have, if Thorin was the sort to wilt.

"That's nothing! Don't you remember when Bilbo was pregnant? Mahal, I was the one Thorin dragged to the florist's every time he bought you a bunch of flowers! "

Bilbo wanted the floor to open up and swallow him, as everyone laughed at the thought of Thorin frequenting florist shops. Bilbo remembered the hesitant pride Thorin had always had when he presented him with flowers, the nervousness betrayed as he watched him hopefully. Thorin's flowers had filled their home in the months leading up to Frodo's birth, and the scent of the ochids that had sat by their bed still stayed with him when he thought of it.

"And when he carried around a picture of Frodo in his wallet and would show it to anyone and everyone," Dís cut in. "You were even worse than Glóin was, Thorin!"

Frerin cackled. "Oh yes, you were far worse. Watching the three of you out together was nauseatingly perfect," Frerin continued, "we could hardly stand the sight of it."

Neither Thorin nor Bilbo said anything as everyone piped up with more stories about them, seemingly each trying to tell the most embarrassing one. By the Lady, Bilbo hadn't realised they really had been that...sickeningly perfect.

Which now led him to the question he couldn't stop from rattling around his brain: if they'd been perfect, why had he let it all go?

He had no answer for himself so he took Thorin's hand, which had curled into a fist on the table, tendons exaggerated he was clenching his fist so tightly, and tried to smile at him reassuringly when the other man jumped. Whatever else, they couldn't look unhappy, not now, not on Frodo's special day. The smile Thorin returned was achingly sincere and surprised and Bilbo had to look away before Thorin saw his emotional turmoil.

Soon most of the guests had migrated over to the dance floor and Bilbo let himself forget about Thorin as he danced with his mother and Dís and Bell Gamgee and some of his younger cousins. Evening steadily drew in and all too soon it was time for Frodo and Sam to go, off on their honeymoon. The moment Bilbo had been dreading the entire time had finally come, and as he helped chivvy the newlyweds outside where their car was waiting, he couldn't help but feel like he was walking to his own execution. He didn't want to be on his own.

There was more confetti throwing as Frodo and Sam tried to avoid it as they ran to the car, ducking the insinuating comments and ribald jokes as much as the confetti. Before they got in, each said goodbye to their parents - Bilbo was trying his best not to cry, but it was hard when his son - he was still so young, how could he be _leaving_ \- was going away. He stepped back after encasing Frodo in a big hug and standing on tiptoe to kiss his dark curls one last time. He saw Frodo give Thorin a pointed look and whisper something in a near hiss nut he couldn't make out what he said, and forgot about it completely as Merry and Pippin barged past him to say goodbye to their cousin.

Thorin had resumed his spot next to Bilbo, and he looked more nervous than sad. Bilbo wondered what he was thinking, but before he could reassure him Thorin had turned to him with a determined expression on his face.

"Bilbo," he said in a voice that made Bilbo's blood freeze, though out of fear or anticipation he couldn't tell. Possibly both. "I have to say something and if I don't say it now I never will." He took a deep breath, looking so vulnerable as he glanced again at Frodo who, Bilbo noted, nodded encouragingly from between Merry and Pippin, and suddenly Bilbo couldn't stand it.

This entire week had been one long pretence, but he'd been pretending to himself. Not for Thráin - he didn't need to pretend for him, because Bilbo knew he loved the man before him more than he could ever say. He wanted him to stay, he wanted him with him in Bag End. He wanted to read Frodo's postcards together, he wanted to greet him home together, he wanted someone to care for and to care for him and his heart ached with how much he wanted Thorin to be his again.

"Bilbo," Thorin said again, his voice shaking ever so slightly as he breathed out.

"I love you," Bilbo said quietly, before he could continue. Thorin froze and said nothing, merely looked at him in shock. "Thorin, I love you and I never stopped loving you and I know it's my fault and I messed up but I - I love you, Thorin, and I want -" he had to stop before his voice broke, eyes filling up with salt tears, and Thorin didn't move. "I'm sorry," Bilbo whispered, aware of the hundred pairs of eyes currently fixed on him as he made a fool of himself. What had made him say that here, now?

"Bilbo," Thorin said, voice sounding hoarse, and he caught Bilbo's hands before he could run back to the house and hide. Bilbo couldn't meet his eye and stared at the ground instead, until a warm firm hand lifted his chin up until he was met with a pair of blue eyes the same colour as his son's. There was silence as everybody held their breath as they watched the scene unfold, and the Baggins in him quailed at the drama and the publicness of it all, even while his insides quivered at Thorin's soft look. "We've lost so much time," Thorin said gently, not removing his hand from Bilbo's face but cupping his cheek instead, wiping away a tear, and Bilbo couldn't help but lean in closer to that touch, so desperately yearned for but never admitted until now. "But I want to spend the rest of mine with you," he continued, looking Bilbo in the eye.

Just for a moment they stared at each other, until suddenly the gap between them closed both hesitantly yet desperately and Thorin's lips were on his in a chaste kiss, warm and soft and uncertain after fifteen years apart and yet in seemingly no time at all their lips remembered the other and grew more confident; Bilbo brought a hand up to Thorin's hair as people cheered around them, a background noise hardly heard beyond the rushing in his ears.

Gently, slowly, reluctantly, they drew apart, Bilbo's heart trembling with the intensity of his emotion. No kiss had ever meant so much as that one right there - apology, forgiveness, promises and hope were all entwined in that one kiss and it took his breath away.

He suddenly realised that everyone's attention was on him and he flushed a furious crimson even as a smile spread across his face, mirroring the one on Thorin's face; suddenly all the air was knocked out of him as he was captured by an enthusiastic Frodo, hugging both him and Thorin tightly.

"Finally," Frodo muttered against Bilbo's hair, giving them both a kiss before ducking away and climbing into the car. "That's one less postcard I've to write," he grinned at them out of the window as Sam climbed in beside him. Bilbo couldn't say or do anything other than smile (and admittedly cry) as he waved as Frodo and Sam's car disappeared down the road, away from the village and Bag End. His hand found Thorin's again and he looked up at him, seeing his own emotions reflected back at him in Thorin's eyes.

"I missed you every day," he whispered, stepping into Thorin's embrace, his face against Thorin's sturdy chest. He could feel his warmth even through his clothes.

"Every second of every day," Thorin murmured against his ear. Bilbo could hear Bella shooing people back to the tent, leaving him and Thorin alone out by the road. Dusk was falling and the air was heavy with the scent of the night stock opening its flowers, its heady perfume a backdrop to their heavy words.

He pulled away and looked up, biting his lip. "Can we try again?" he asked softly, Thorin's calloused warm fingers stroking his cheek. "Can we get it back?"

"I don't know," Thorin replied, his eyes tracing Bilbo's features and drinking him in like a man without water. Bilbo himself was simply holding onto him as if Thorin was the only thing keeping him afloat. "But I know we can try."

And then Bilbo closed the distance between them , reaching up on his tiptoes and pulling Thorin's head down until their lips met in a kiss so tender and gentle Bilbo couldn't help but smile into it; Thorin deepened it and Bilbo could only clutch at him desperately as he and Thorin reacquaint themselves with one another after so long apart, so long spent wanting, so long _hurting,_ and needlessly.

Hopefully, though, they could recover from all the hurt of the past and get back what they once had. The Maker knew, they were stubborn enough to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue coming soon!!! ;)


	10. EPILOGUE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the very final chapter! I so hope you guys enjoy it :D

_Dear Dad and Papa,_

_Sam and I are having a wonderful time here. The Rivendell Hotel is absolutely gorgeous - though Dad, you'd hate it - they don't serve much meat here. Papa, you'd adore their special bathhouse. It's a dream. We've visited the Mirkwood forest (terribly dull for you, Dad, I know!) and it's glorious._

_We visited the famous Lothlorien Hot Houses yesterday, and Sam was practically having fits at all the different plants there were. Our house will probably have turned into a greenhouse by the time you next come and visit once we're back!_

_I have so much to tell you both, but I won't here. Just know that I'm so happy for you both and I can't wait to see you again. Our wedding will probably go down in history, though not because of us - or the food!_

_With lots of love, Frodo_

Bilbo finished reading and looked up at Thorin, smiling as he set down a cup of tea in front of him. Thorin pulled out the chair next to Bilbo, their legs touching, and Bilbo handed him the postcard to read. It was amazing how quickly he'd got used to Thorin being back in his life again - how little adjustment he'd needed.

It was almost as if he'd subconsciously been ready for him to come to his senses for a long, long time, and finally he had. Having Thorin back was the best thing to happen to him in the fifteen years since they'd split and Bilbo was determined not to let him go again.

Thorin chuckled softly as he read the postcard. "No meat," he snorted. "What kind of establishment doesn't serve meat."

Bilbo just smiled and leaned against Thorin, feeling his body relax against the contours of Thorin's. He fit just as well as he had all those years ago. Thorin was scanning the postcard again, that small smile he always got when thinking about Frodo appearing again on his face, and Bilbo closed his eyes as he listened to the morning birdsong.

He opened them again when Thorin sat up, letting out a small "oh?" of confusion as he did so.

"What is it?" Bilbo asked him.

Thorin handed him the postcard. "Look. There's a postscript down there, right at the bottom. I can't read it, he wrote it so small."

Taking the card, Bilbo peered at it, frowning as he tried to decipher the tiny letters Frodo had scrawled right at the very bottom of the page.

_Papa, just thought you should know. Eggs make me feel queasy and I was sick this morning - and yesterday, and the day before. Fingers crossed!_

Bilbo stood suddenly, chair going flying and tea spilling everywhere, all over his antique mahogany table. He couldn't even bring himself to care at that moment.

"What is it?" Thorin asked, suddenly concerned. Bilbo waved the postcard in the air in agitation.

"He - he -" He forced himself to swallow and breathe. "Frodo's pregnant!"

This time it was Thorin's disbelieving yell of "what?" that sounded through the house, his chair pushed back so sharply with the ferocity of the movement it toppled right over. As Thorin started ranting, Bilbo just wondered if the same caterers would work for him again, considering they'd had to clear up after Dís' boys and Merry and Pippin. It was never too early to start thinking of these things.

 

**Finis**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for all your lovely comments on this story and I can't tell you how happy I am you've enjoyed it :D <3

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked what we've got so far - hopefully the chapters will get longer as we go on but we'll see. Please do let me know what you think. :3
> 
> Also don't forget you can find me on [ tumblr. ](http://bespectacled-hobbits.tumblr.com/) Hopefully see you with the next chapter soon! ^_^


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